


Crown of Thorns

by Aerys_Krystie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Background Relationships, F/M, Gen, Good Friend Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magic, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 89,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerys_Krystie/pseuds/Aerys_Krystie
Summary: The change is meant to lift a child, elevate their status in the hierarchy of life. Demonesques learn to manipulate those around them. Angelesques learn to care for the world. Fallens learn to become assassins.The Whittemore and Hale families are the most powerful demonesque families in Beacon Hills. Because of their statuses, they often do work together, which means that Jackson is exposed to their children on a regular basis. There’s nothing wrong with that…until his change happens.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Jackson Whittemore, Deucalion & Jackson Whittemore, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 75
Kudos: 40





	1. Bitter Pill to Work

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

 **Theme:** AU – Angels and Demons.

 **Plot:** The change is meant to lift a child, elevate their status in the hierarchy of life. Demonesques learn how to manipulate those around them. Angelesques learn how to heal the world. Fallens learn how to become an assassin.

The Whittemore and Hale families are the largest demonesque families in Beacon Hills. Because of their statuses, they often do work together, which means that Jackson is exposed to their children on a regular basis. There’s nothing wrong with that…until his change happens.

 **Warnings:** Slash, language, violence, death, gore, OOC and OC.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything of and referring to _Teen Wolf_ is not mine. This is a fan-made, non-profit story. Please support the official release.

 **Author’s Note:** This originally started as a one-shot, but became too big. So, I decided to turn it into a story and explore the ideas I thought of within the one-shot more thoroughly.

* * *

At the age of six, they were taken on a camping trip one weekend. There was nothing odd about that, except that trip stuck in his mind. That was the trip when he and the other boys were first told about Fallens, around the campfire like they were a scary story. The others were worried, checking the night sky after the story finished, as though a Fallen would swoop down and carry them away.

Jackson Whittemore remembered tilting his head and raising his hand. “What makes a Fallen so scary?”

The youth worker, a teenaged angelesque with fluffy white wings had smiled. “They kill. They’ll kill demonesques, angelesques and humans,” he said, the smile taking on a somber edge. “Anyone that can kill so easily is scary. Those that have no regard for life and only see it as a dollar sign should be feared.”

Jackson didn’t understand it. There were plenty of demonesques and angelesques in the military, where they were trained to take a life and were paid for it. Maybe it was because his parents were demonesque that made him feel like there was nothing wrong with Fallens. He noticed that Scott and Stiles were worried. Scott was raised by his human mother, but Stiles had a demonesque father. Granted, Stiles’ father was in law enforcement, but that should be more a reason for Stiles not to fear a Fallen.

That night, Jackson remembered the dream that clouded his mind. There was silver flames, black wings and a battlefield in front of a mighty angelesque. The parched land was flowing with blood, bodies strewn everywhere and still more came. Dual swords that were dripping with red were held in hands, pale eyes flashed with excitement as the body got into a stance for the next fight to begin.

Jackson remembered waking with a gasp, staring at the top of the tent, thinking one thought – _Fallens were the angels of old. One wing always dipped in blood._ He had no idea where it came from, but realized that it wasn’t wrong. The days of old, where angels were a force to reckon with against the demons were gone. In his young mind, he saw Fallens as angelesques that weren’t ready to leave those days behind. And that scared people.

* * *

Another memory from his childhood was walking through the woods with Danny at the age of seven. They didn’t have a destination in mind, just wandering. Danny was big on nature and was searching for a particular flower, one that was meant to be extremely dangerous as well as beautiful. Jackson had gone with him, mostly to stop him from getting poison ivy again. That hadn’t been a fun time.

They walked a path, Jackson with his eyes lowered and lost in thoughts about the science project that he had coming up, along with lacrosse practice. He wasn’t really looking where he was going, but he froze when Danny suddenly grabbed his arm.

Blinking, Jackson looked back at him and found that Danny was staring to the left. Turning his attention there, Jackson saw what had Danny worried. All of them knew about the house in the preserve. There were two cars, a black one and a dark grey one, parked in front of it. Danny gripped Jackson’s arm and Jackson rolled his eyes. There had been stories running around about the house for as long as he could remember.

He didn’t fully understand how or why the rumors began circulating, but he was going to assume it was because all of them knew the tale of Hansel and Gretel. Finding a house in the woods was never a good thing, according to fairytales. Stiles had defended the house against any bad rumors, saying that the occupants were really nice people. Jackson had met them, a family of demonesques that usually visited his family for Fourth of July. As a child, Jackson didn’t care about mingling with people that were too old for him.

While he knew that his parents were trying to teach him the basic skills of being a demonesque, Jackson was still at the age where cartoons were his life. If he had to pick between meeting old people that didn’t care about him and he didn’t care about in return or cartoons, he would prefer to stare at the massive TV, watching characters bend in unnatural shapes. For the time being, his parents understood and left him alone.

Shaking his head, Jackson glared at Danny and pushed him on. They continued on their search for the plant Danny wanted to find, unaware of the eyes that watched them from a window.

* * *

At the tender age of ten, Jackson knew he was a demonesque child. During boys lacrosse, he was penalized for ‘being too aggressive.’ His parents had shouted at the referee, their horns materializing as they got angry, seeing their child sitting out of the game. Jackson didn’t think he’d been that aggressive, considering it was a contact sport. He had simply tackled the other to prevent them from scoring. He couldn’t expect Danny to pick up the slack in their defense. His team won the game.

During the next games, Jackson was constantly given penalties for ‘being too aggressive,’ which just had him getting angry with the referees. He had studied the rulebook and knew what was and wasn’t legal when it came to the game of lacrosse, even _boys_ lacrosse allowed tackles. Instead, he was constantly sitting out and ignored the disgusted look he received from the other team’s coach or the disappointed expression from his own coach. He was there to win games and get his team to the championships. He wasn’t there to talk about his feelings.

The first time he was ejected from the game was after his frustration got the best of him. The idea of making team captain hadn’t crossed his mind, as he just wanted to play the game. He was receiving yet another penalty for being too aggressive, when he barely touched the other player. The referee was taking him over to a bench, where the penalty would be served.

“This is bullshit,” Jackson snapped as he sat down. “That was a legal tackle!”

“Body-checking is not allowed in boys lacrosse, Whittemore,” the referee said with a shake of his head. “When are you going to learn that?”

“Maybe remove it from the fucking rulebook, then!” Jackson spat with a glare.

“Unsportsmanlike misconduct,” the referee declared and Jackson’s eyes widened. He was being ejected from the game because he was challenging a rule.

Jackson growled as he stood up and left the field, returning to the locker room for the visiting team. He slammed the door to the locker room and threw his helmet. Fine! If that’s the way they were going to treat him, he’ll memorize the damn rulebook and play by them. They couldn’t get him penalized if he was sticking to their dumb rules and playing a ‘clean’ game. As boring as that was, he would become the best player in the history of Beacon Hills.

* * *

True to his word, Jackson became one of the best players for Beacon Hills. There was another that challenged him for captain of the boys team, but he moved away when they were twelve and Jackson became the captain. He worked his team hard, making sure he memorized the rulebook. Since his ejection, he hadn’t received a single penalty, which he was certain pained the referees that remembered him from that time. For the next two years, he would be captain.

Going from middle school to high school was a big change for Jackson. A week before he was to start was to start as a freshman, he woke up to a strange tingling running through his body. It rippled along his bones and made his muscles quiver. It wasn’t painful, but it was definitely strange feeling. He stood from bed and looked at his hands, seeing nothing weird.

Frowning, Jackson realized that he could see his hands perfectly. There was a light coming from somewhere and he turned around, not seeing anything behind him. He tilted his head up and his eyes widened, seeing a halo above his head. Blinking, he ran into his bathroom and flipped on the light. He stared at the halo hovering seven inches above his head and his eyes widened.

The halo was black, a crown of thorns that were surrounded by silver flames. Lowering his head, Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw ethereal wings materializing behind him. Swallowing, Jackson stepped back from the mirror, unable to believe what he was seeing. He wasn’t meant to be an angelesque. His parents were both demonesque. While it wasn’t impossible for a child to present opposite of their parents, especially if it was in their line, it was uncommon in recent years. Two demonesques would have a demonesque child. Jackson was meant to be a demonesque, not an angelesque.

Running from his bedroom, Jackson burst into his parents’ room, his father waking with a snort. “Something you wanna tell me?” Jackson demanded as his father turned on the bedside lamp.

His mother woke, blinking at him groggily, before she realized what she was seeing. “Oh no.” Her eyes were wide as she stared at the halo above Jackson’s head.

The halo wasn’t the problem for Jackson. He was more annoyed at the massive, fluffy wings sprouting from his shoulders, which were raising higher and higher up. “Oh yes, Mother,” Jackson said, words dripping with venom. “ _How_ am I an angelesque?”

“We figured this might happen,” David said as he pulled on a robe. “Let’s go downstairs and have some coffee.”

Jackson gritted his teeth, but also knew his father wasn’t fully functional without at least one cup of coffee in him. Spinning around, Jackson stormed out of the bedroom. The wind tickled his feathers, which just annoyed him far more than anything. He could feel the longer feathers at the bottom of the wings brushing along the floor, which felt strange. The feeling moved up his wings and into his shoulders, which made him raise his wings higher to stop that.

In the kitchen, Jackson got the coffee brewing and sat down, hearing his parents moving around upstairs. He also needed coffee, but he was too angry with them to think about that. He had to be adopted. That was the only reason he could think of for why he was an angelesque. Why wouldn’t they tell him earlier, just in case something like this happened? Keeping it a secret was a dumb move on their behalf.

There wasn’t a test to tell what denomination a child would be. If the biological parents were demonesque, there were high chances that the child would follow. The same with angelesque parents. The only toss-up were half-breeds. Stiles was a half-breed, an angelesque mother and a demonesque father. Those were rare. More often than not, the child remained human. Stiles had received his wings and halo near the beginning of summer. Scott was a half-breed, a human mother and a demonesque father. He had received his horns and tail before they finished middle school.

Upstairs, Jackson could hear his parents talking with each other. The coffee finished brewing and Jackson stood up, getting two mugs of it for his parents. He called out that coffee was ready and his parents went quiet, before there was a series of hushed tones. A few minutes later, his parents joined him in the kitchen and sat down, sipping their coffee.

“You are adopted, Jackson,” his mother said and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“No shit,” he stated and swallowed when his mother glared at him. “Sorry. But it’s kind of obvious!”

David nodded and drank his coffee. “Your biological parents were killed in a car crash. Your mother was technically dead, but kept alive long enough to give birth to you. They were both demonesque. You should have been a demonesque, as well.”

Jackson sighed and tilted his head back, staring at the halo that seemed to laugh at him. “I don’t know how to be angelesque,” he said as he leveled his head.

His mother, who was still staring at his halo, shook her head. “You’re not angelesque, sweetheart,” she said softly and Jackson frowned, spreading his wings and gesturing at the halo. The evidence was pretty definitive. “You’re a Fallen.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and his wings drooped, his mouth falling open. He hadn’t thought about Fallens since he was six, eight years ago. The dream of that camping trip came back to his mind and he shook his head. He only dreamed of that because of what the youth worker said, about how Fallens love to kill. As far as Jackson knew, he didn’t love killing. He hadn’t thought about it.

Instead, he shook his head again and glared at his mother. “Black wings are uncommon with angelesques, but that doesn’t mean—”

“A crown of thorns is a Fallen’s calling card,” David said and glanced at the halo. “All Fallens have that halo.”

Jackson couldn’t think. His mind went completely blank, except for those words rattling around. _All Fallens have that halo. All Fallens have that halo._ It just kept repeating in his mind, again and again and nothing new was coming from it. What could he do with that information? There was nothing he could do with it. He sat back in the chair, staring blankly at the table.

“How do you know that?” Jackson asked. He hadn’t really done any research on Fallens, despite being interested in them when he was younger. Once he hit the age of ten, his mind was taken up entirely by lacrosse.

His mother sighed softly. “We didn’t know what your genealogy from your biological parents was. We did research on every possible outcome, just in case it happened. Black wings and a crown of thorns are the trademarks of a Fallen.”

“As well as their bloodlust,” Jackson muttered and glared at the table.

“Yes,” David murmured, glancing at his wife for a moment, before his eyes returned to Jackson. “That needs to be curbed. Fallens don’t present as early as you, Jackson.”

Frowning, Jackson looked at his father. “What does that mean?”

Silence fell over his parents and Jackson began to worry. He didn’t feel the need to murder people, so he was going to assume that his bloodlust was already curbed. He might have presented early, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant he had longer to figure out how to live a normal life as a sanctioned assassin. He wasn’t going to randomly start murdering people, regardless of what the stories about Fallens said.

Before he could repeat the question, there was a knock on the front door. Jackson frowned and turned in his chair, as his mother sprang to her feet and hurried to answer it. Something was going on, especially as he heard a voice he couldn’t place. He blinked as Alan Deaton entered the kitchen and froze, staring at Jackson, taking in the large wings and the halo.

“You weren’t joking,” Alan said as he sat down at the table. “Hello, Jackson.”

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

Alan smiled, placing his hands on the table. “I’m here to take you so you can become a Fallen,” he said and Jackson stared at him. “You’re the first Fallen to present in thirty years, Jackson. You might not feel it now, but there will be urges to murder and your anger can take you over.”

Jackson frowned, thinking about the wording. The bloodlust was something that came in. He expected to be born with it, not that his wings and halo would make him feel that way. He wasn’t entirely sure if there was an argument for that. His anger had always been a problem for him, especially when he was younger. Once he figured out how to apply it to his game, it pretty much left him.

“Where do I need to go?” Jackson asked.

“There’s someone in Vermont that can help you,” Alan answered and Jackson frowned. That was across the map. “He’ll understand what you’re going through more than anyone else.”

Jackson swallowed and looked at his parents. They had their eyes down and Jackson closed his. With a deep breath, he opened them and looked at Alan. “Let me guess, I leave now?”

Alan nodded slowly. “It’s for the best,” he said.

Jackson rolled his eyes. Of course it was. “Can I at least say goodbye to my friends?”

“No,” Alan said and Jackson’s eyes widened. “No one can know you’re a Fallen, Jackson.” He smiled when Jackson opened his mouth to argue the fact. “Fallens aren’t…accepted in normal society. You can never show your halo to anyone. Your wings…” He trailed off as he looked at them, frowning slightly. “If you don’t want to present as human, you can show your wings. Just know, black wings are uncommon. People may fear you’re a Fallen and avoid you.”

Jackson knew Danny would never abandon him. They had been together since they were six and Danny was the only one that Jackson trusted with the knowledge that he was a Fallen. Danny had presented as an angelesque during their last year of middle school. His white wings had a purple-blue dual chromatic sheen to them. His halo was a white daisy chain, which was apparently his connection to nature. Both of them were excited for when Jackson presented. Now, he was being told that he couldn’t share his change with anyone.

“I know it must feel unfair, Jackson,” Alan said, as though he could read Jackson’s thoughts. “But others may not be as open about your change as your friends. Fallens don’t have a great reputation or even a good one. They’re feared and fear makes people do strange things. If you’re attacked, you _will_ kill in defense of yourself and not see a problem with it.”

Jackson blinked, realizing that he felt that way, anyway. If anyone was stupid enough to attack him, for any reason, he would kill them. Being a Fallen wasn’t responsible for that. It was just his given right as a Whittemore, even as an adopted one. He shrugged at Alan, who raised an eyebrow.

“What will my friends and team be told?”

David cleared his throat. “We’ll tell them you had an accident and you’re recovering across the country, with the best specialists,” he said and Jackson’s eyebrows went up. “We’ll tell Danny a half-truth, that you received grace poisoning. He’ll at least know you’re an angelesque.”

Jackson lowered his eyes, starting to nod his head and then shaking it. If Danny knew he was an angelesque, he would want to see his halo. The one thing he couldn’t show anyone would be the one thing Danny would demand to see. He couldn’t have his wings out, either. If he had his wings out, but not his halo, everyone would know he was hiding it. Maybe it would be easier to just attend high school elsewhere. At least he wouldn’t have to lie to his best friend about something so simple.

“Fuck!” Jackson shouted and slammed his hands down on the table. He stood up and began pacing, glaring at the floor. His feathers ruffled as his wings flexed. He didn’t see how his mother jumped or his father’s stunned expression. “Can I just cut my wings off?”

Alan’s eyes widened. “I hope you’re joking, Jackson,” he said and Jackson glared at him. “Cutting the wings off an angelesque is a very slow and painful death. It’s the same for a demonesque having their horns removed. It’s a cruel way to die.”

Jackson stopped his pacing and stared at Alan. He didn’t think he would die from removing his wings, but nodded and went back to pacing. He didn’t want to be a Fallen. He didn’t even want to be an angelesque. For the purpose of staying in school, with his friends that he wouldn’t need to lie to, he would prefer to remain human. Being human in a world full of angelesques and demonesques wasn’t a good thing, but they were still treated better than Fallens were.

“I hate this,” he said and dropped into the chair again. He looked at Alan. “I know I don’t have a choice, but fine. Let me pack.”

* * *

Vermont was nothing like Jackson was expecting. It wasn’t nearly as populated as California and even though Beacon Hills was a town, he was certain that it still had half the population of Vermont. The town he was taken to was a farming community. Alan was smiling in the driver seat, as though the eight day trip across country hadn’t taken a huge toll on him.

Jackson had tried to hide his halo, but he didn’t know the first thing about it. He thought about it vanishing and it disappeared for a moment, only to come back. “You need to focus your grace on it,” Alan had said and Jackson just blinked at him. His change happened less than twenty-four hours ago and he was meant to tap into something he didn’t even know about?

Alan went on to explain that angelesques created their magic from their grace, while demonesques used their stigma. Jackson frowned, thinking on his grace. He was going to assume that was the tingling he felt. It hadn’t stopped since his wings and halo appeared. Over the course of the next eight days, he focused on the tingle and thought about his halo vanishing from above his head. By the time they arrived in Maine, he could keep his halo hidden. It only took six days of constant thought.

By the time they arrived in Twin Falls, Vermont, Jackson was exhausted. They drove through the center of town, bypassing a motel and left the town. Alan pulled into a long driveway and Jackson blinked at the farm. He saw horses in their paddocks and groaned at the ideas running through his head. He just knew most of his time would be spent mucking stalls. He had no issue with animals, he just hated cleaning up after them.

A house came into view and Jackson blinked at the man that was standing on the porch. His black wings were standing proud behind him, the feathers reflecting red. Alan stopped the car and smiled at Jackson, who was still staring at the man with black wings. The man finished his water and turned around. Jackson blinked and glanced at Alan, figuring the man was another Fallen.

“He’s not a Fallen,” Alan said as he opened his door. “His wife was, though.”

Jackson frowned as he got out of the car and went to the trunk. “Was?” he repeated.

“She died, twelve years ago.”

“That sucks,” Jackson said as he grabbed two of his suitcases, letting Alan take the third one. “But he won’t know what I’m going through.”

“True, but he also helped his wife when she first presented. They’d been childhood friends. He knows his stuff.” Alan closed the trunk. “He’s also done extensive research into Fallens.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, but made no comment as he followed Alan up to the porch and into the house. While it was clean, it wasn’t showroom clean. Jackson glanced at the man, whose name he still didn’t know and forced a smile. The man stared at him, running his eyes over his slight frame. He was only fourteen. Whatever the man was expecting, it certainly wasn’t him.

“Fallens don’t present as early as him,” the man said. “No Fallen has ever presented before eighteen. He just has black wings.”

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes, revealing his halo. The man’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’m a Fallen.” He hid his halo again and the man looked at Alan.

“How is he a Fallen? He’s what, thirteen, fourteen?” Jackson told him and the man shook his head. “He’s four years early.”

Jackson’s eyebrows went up. The man sounded angry about that fact, but there wasn’t anything Jackson could do about it. “Yeah, we got that. Can you help or are you going to yell about me being early?”

The man stared at Jackson blankly, his halo wavered into existence for a moment, before it vanished. Jackson frowned at it. “Black laurels,” he said and shrugged. “We’re a cousin of the Fallen, known as the Disgraced. We don’t have the bloodlust or the immense magic power, but we’re not opposed to murder.” He pointed down the hallway. “Go down and to the right, you’ll find some empty bedrooms. Pick one.”

Jackson nodded and beckoned Alan to follow, hearing a snort from the man. He went down the hallway and to the right, opening a door. He stepped into the room and placed his suitcases on the double bed. He looked at the flowery quilt covering the bed and was instantly reminded of old people. He wasn’t going to complain, too loudly, about it and went back out to the front hall.

“You got a name, old timer?” Jackson asked as the man turned to him.

“Deucalion,” he answered and Jackson nodded. “Just so you know, this isn’t a vacation, kid. You will be worked until you can’t stand. Your magic will be worked until you can’t breathe. Your anger will be tested until it no longer affects you. Do I make myself clear?”

Jackson nodded. “Crystal,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do I do first, oh Master?”

Deucalion smiled and Jackson’s blood ran cold. The man charged at him and Jackson spun to the left. Deucalion came at him again and Jackson ducked to the right. “Is that all you know to do, kid? You can only dodge?”

“Some people can’t grasp that concept,” Jackson answered with a shrug. “At least you know you won’t have to work on that with me.”

“What’s your fighting skill like?”

“I don’t have one.”

“These next twelve months are going to be the hardest of your life,” Deucalion promised and Jackson blinked.

“Bring it on.”

* * *

**September**

Jackson groaned as he was slammed onto the ground, gasping for air. His ribs were aching and his vision was blurry. His wings flapped uselessly behind him, the black feathers reflecting the colors of the rainbow in the bright sunlight. Deucalion had his foot between Jackson’s shoulders, who was still trying to get up. He was tired of coughing up dirt every night. He always tired of fighting with bruises and inflamed joints. Deucalion didn’t give him a day to rest for anything, except for a broken bone. The man was always careful not to break anything.

“You have more to you than just your hands, kid,” Deucalion said as Jackson’s wings flopped, spreading out to the sides of Jackson. “You have legs and a head. Use them! Get up and try again.”

Jackson coughed as Deucalion stepped on him as he passed. Rasping, Jackson got to his feet, swaying and stumbling as his ribs protested every movement. He gazed at Deucalion, who stared back at him, waiting for his next attack. Jackson ran his tongue along his lower lip, ignoring the sting from the split on it.

Once the pain had gone from a nine to an eight, Jackson straightened and glared. He ran at Deucalion, who sighed. It was the same move Jackson had done for the last two weeks. What he wasn’t expecting, was Jackson to let the wind grab his wings and let him slip to the right, practically disappearing. Jackson’s kick to the ribs had Deucalion doubling over, in perfect position for Jackson’s punch to knock him down.

“I also have wings,” Jackson said as Deucalion picked himself up.

“Good. You’re finally starting to think and use everything to your advantage, including your youth.” Deucalion faced Jackson. “Never go easy on an opponent because they’re older.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow and nodded. He hadn’t been going easy on Deucalion. That win was a complete fluke and he only got it because Deucalion wasn’t expecting him to slip to the side. He’d take the win, but it took him two weeks just to land an attack. He figured in another two weeks, he might be able to kill Deucalion if he pushed him too far.

“Right. Let’s go again.”

Jackson inhaled as deeply as his bruised ribs allowed and waited. He spun to the side, elbow connecting with Deucalion’s nose. The angelesque cried out and stepped back. Jackson tilted his head, punching the man in the face and breaking his nose. His knee met Deucalion’s ribs several times, before he caught it and shoved Jackson back, glaring at him, blood pouring from his nose.

“You’re a Fallen, all right,” Deucalion said and wiped the blood away.

“You just told me not to go easy on an opponent because they’re older than me,” Jackson said, feeling like he was being punished for listening to someone’s advice.

“This is _training_ , kid,” Deucalion stated with a glare. “You were about to kill me.”

Jackson blinked, thinking on the adrenaline flooding his system when he made Deucalion bleed. “Oh… My bad.”

Deucalion shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this shit. All right. Again.”

Jackson ducked Deucalion’s right hook, coming up in front of the man. His jab made a hard connection with his jaw and Jackson heard something crack. He wasn’t sure if it was the bone, the joint or the teeth. Deucalion held his hand up and stepped back. Jackson wondered when he became a decent fighter, feeling the breeze ruffle his feathers. He jumped on the spot as he waited for Deucalion to pull himself together for another round.

“Your instincts are a lot stronger for someone your age,” Deucalion said and Jackson tilted his head. “You aren’t thinking like a human anymore, kid. You’re thinking like a Fallen. You don’t even realize it, but you’re seeing all my weak points. You know where to hit to cause the most damage. It took my wife two years to learn that.”

Jackson frowned and looked at Deucalion. The next attack, he would go for the left knee and then the jaw again. He blinked up at Deucalion, wondering how he knew what he did. It was the same during games, he knew where players were weak and the best way to take them out of games. It wasn’t a nice way to win, but he was captain and did what he could for his team.

Straightening his shoulders, Jackson’s wings arched up behind him. Deucalion glanced at them and Jackson took that momentary distraction as the incentive. He rushed at Deucalion, kicking out his left knee, which had the man crying out. Jackson’s fist slammed into the jaw again and Deucalion fell to the ground. Jackson took a step back and gazed down at him. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Deucalion to sit up or something.

As the minutes ticked by, Jackson sat down by the unconscious angelesque and sighed. “Probably should’ve mentioned your body is frail, old timer,” he muttered and poked a shoulder.

When he got no response, Jackson stood up and jumped on the spot. He realized that he was landing lighter each time, his wings spreading slightly to catch the wind beneath them and lower him slowly. Tilting his head, Jackson jumped as high as he could and spread his wings, eyes widening when he realized he was hovering. He beat his wings and drove up higher, feeling the slight air currents through his feathers. He beat his wings again and went up higher.

Turning, Jackson gasped as he was on his back, staring up at the sky, his wings tilted to keep him suspended. His heart thudded wildly in his chest at the fact that he was floating around. Looking around, Jackson stared at the roof of the house and twisted his body, wings beating as he flew over to the building. It took only a few seconds, before he was floating down to the roof, landing softly.

Grinning, Jackson backed up and ran off the edge of the roof, wings spreading out to catch the wind. With a snap, he was soaring upwards, screaming his joy. He stopped after a minute and looked down, realizing the house was about the size of a child’s toy. He spread his wings, glancing from left to right, watching as the light gave his wings a rainbow gradient. Bringing his wings around his body, Jackson stared at the feathers, eyes widening when he saw that each feather reflected the colors of the rainbow, which explained the gradient effect.

Pulling his wings behind him, Jackson dropped towards the ground. With a loud snap, his wings extended and slowed his descent the last few feet. He landed lightly beside the still unconscious Deucalion and sighed when he remembered he needed to deal with that. His left hand became a fist and twitched. Jackson stared at the feather in his hand. It was a black feather with a blue sheen to it.

Looking between the feather and Deucalion, Jackson tilted his head and flicked the feather at the unconscious angelesque. The shaft embedded in Deucalion’s arm. That was different. Tilting his head to the other side, Jackson snapped his fingers and the feather vanished. Deucalion opened his eyes and sat up, staring at Jackson, before he blinked around.

“What happened? Last thing I remember is you charging at me.”

Jackson’s left hand twitched again and a black feather with a blue sheen appeared. “This happened?”

Deucalion stood up and looked at the feather. “Amazing,” he murmured, running a finger along the edge. He hissed and pulled his hand back. “I forgot about that.” Jackson stared at the blood on Deucalion’s finger. “A Fallen’s wings are also a weapon. When your wings fully manifest, aside from being so unbelievably painful you’d wish you were dead, your wings can kill people. Each feather will be like a razor attached to your back.”

Jackson looked at the feather and ran his fingers over it, looking at them. They were perfectly fine. Considering the feather came from his body, Jackson was going to assume he had an immunity to them. “What do you mean when my wings fully manifest?” He looked over his shoulder at his wings. They looked rather realized.

Deucalion smiled sadly. “Those are just your placeholder for your real wings. When they come through…” He winced and rolled his shoulders, his own wings stretching out. “Angelesques have died from their wings coming through. It’s almost like a rite of passage. There will be blood and pain.”

The feather vanished from Jackson’s hand and he tilted his head. “I felt a tingle when mine showed up.”

“That tingle was just your grace entering your body. You’re one of the lucky ones. But considering you’re a Fallen, maybe not that lucky. Your wings are laying dormant in your body. There will be something that triggers them coming out.” Deucalion placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “They will rip out from your back, _violently_.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and he looked at his wings. That didn’t sound remotely nice, like when his grace entered his body. He didn’t want his wings to come out. “Wait,” he said and returned his eyes to Deucalion. “If my wings will be dangerous, won’t people know I’m a Fallen that way?”

“Not many people know that a Fallen’s wings are dangerous, but you’re right.” Deucalion straightened and crossed his arms. “Fallens are the only angelesques that can retract their wings.” Jackson smirked. “But,” he went on sternly. “You need to release them, every so often. If you don’t, they’ll stagnate, decay within your body and kill you.”

“Fuck me,” Jackson groaned and tilted his head back, glaring up at the sky. “ _Everything_ ends with me dying, horribly!” He growled and kicked at the dirt underfoot. “This is bullshit.”

“The life of a Fallen isn’t an easy one.” Deucalion ran his eyes over Jackson’s wings. “You’re also the only Fallen I know that has the rainbow sheen. It’s rather common with black wings, but Fallens rarely have more than one color.” He frowned and looked at Jackson’s left hand. “That feather, you said that happened. What do you mean?”

“I threw it at you, snapped my fingers and you woke up…apparently without any of the pain of me dislocating your knee and jaw.” Jackson shrugged, figuring that was normal.

“Remarkable,” Deucalion said as he circled Jackson. “You have attacking feathers. The last Fallen to have those was…well, long before us. I don’t think there’s been one recorded in over fifteen hundred years.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and his wings snapped out, before they settled behind him. “Seriously? Can’t I be _normal_ in terms of _anything_?” he demanded. “What about flying? Is that normal for an angelesque?”

“Not really,” Deucalion answered and stood in front of Jackson again. “I can fly, but not many angelesques bother with it. It’s a normal trait for a Fallen. Congratulations, you’re normal there.”

“Finally,” Jackson muttered with a roll of his eyes. “All right, Master, what’s next?”

Deucalion smiled thinly. “Weapon training.”


	2. Weapon and Instinct

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

**October**

Once Deucalion was certain Jackson’s hand-to-hand combat was up to scratch, Jackson was then told about the weapons. Each angelesque and demonesque had a unique weapon. Angelesques typically had swords and spears, while demonesques had bows or whips, long-range weapons. Fallens were different, as were Disgraced. They could have either range of weapon and Jackson tilted his head.

Deucalion brought his weapon forward, a dark red whip staff that could segment into a whip. Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw the whip parts were chains with what appeared to be bear teeth on the links. That would cause some serious damage. He was right, as Deucalion gave a demonstration on a fence post. The chain wrapped around the wood and cut in clean in half. Jackson’s eyes lit up and danced as Deucalion recalled the chain and the whip became a staff again.

Holding out his right hand, Jackson focused on his grace. The tingling increased and he looked at his hand, pouting slightly when he saw a sword there. That was boring. The sword was pure black, long and thin, not too dissimilar to a katana. Silver leather was wrapped around the handle and there was a silver tooth, like the incisor of a wolf as the pommel. The entire sword appeared like it was one long piece of metal, broken up only by the leather on the handle. They were long, almost the length of his legs. Hovering by his hips, the hand and pommel stretched up to his ribs, while the blade fell just below his knee.

He gripped the handle and frowned. The sword was a lot lighter than he was expecting. Looking at the blade, Jackson tilted his head when he saw leaping impalas etched into the blade. He had no idea what that was meant to represent, but shrugged and took a few swings of the sword.

Deucalion stood back, watching. Jackson pursed his lips as his stance changed, like he knew how he was meant to stand to defend or attack. He’d never held a sword before in his life, but his body was moving like he was the greatest swordsman in the world. With the sword in hand, he felt powerful, unstoppable and ready to kill. His eyes lit up as Deucalion created strawmen for him to cut through.

Jackson would thank his years of lacrosse training and playing for his speed. He grinned as he slipped past the dummies, the razor edge of his sword easily slicing through them. Somehow, he knew the blade would slice through a body just as smoothly. He also knew that this was instinct, his movements and attacks. They felt natural to him, but he didn’t know how to defend.

While the sword was light, Jackson found that his arm was tiring. It wasn’t too long before his shoulder and arm refused to listen to his commands. He stepped back, rolling his shoulder. Deucalion blinked at him and Jackson narrowed his eyes. He changed hands and Deucalion’s eyebrows went up slightly. Jackson assumed not many were ambidextrous, but he made sure he could play either side of the field. A captain was always versatile.

Nodding at Deucalion, Jackson flipped the sword in his left hand. It wasn’t as fluid as it was with his right and he knew he needed to work on that. He had the time for it. Even as he moved through the strawmen, Jackson saw that he was getting better, his left shoulder loosening as the ‘battle’ went on. Still, he hated that one of his arms was basically useless during a fight. He could use two hands for his sword, but it was light enough that that would be a waste of energy.

By the time Jackson was completely exhausted, the sun was beginning to set. His shoulders were aching and he was lightheaded, realizing that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Deucalion stood behind him and gave him a quick, very quick, like barely ten seconds, massage. Jackson hissed as his muscles were worked for that short period of time, before the man stood back.

“How much of that was instinct and how much was skill?” Deucalion asked and Jackson shrugged. “You can’t rely on instinct forever, kid. You have the skills buried deep in you and it’s those you need to work on. Tomorrow will be about footing.”

Jackson nodded and stood up, legs weak and trembling. He hid it as best as he could, before the sword vanished from his hand and he followed Deucalion into the house. In the kitchen, Jackson watched as Deucalion tried to find the matches for the stove. His left hand twitched and a black feather with an orange sheen to it appeared. He blinked at it and then the stove, before he threw it and it embedded in the burner. He snapped his fingers and flames appeared. Deucalion turned to Jackson, who tried to shrug his stiff shoulders.

“Did that have a color to it?”

“Yeah, orange.”

Deucalion stared at Jackson’s wings. “Remarkable,” he whispered, placing the kettle on the burner. “Your feathers are based on the colors of the rainbow. You have six different attacks, six extra ways to kill people.”

Jackson was about to mention that there were seven colors to the rainbow, when he remembered the blue feathers could heal. “Why would I have healing feathers? I’m a Fallen, everything about me is murder.”

Deucalion made tea and placed a cup in front of Jackson. “Fallens don’t have friends, either. From a young age, they’ve always been loners. They don’t play sports or join clubs. They certainly don’t present at fourteen, either.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I got that, okay? I’m a freak for presenting so early.” He shook his head and sipped the tea, feeling the warmth of it spread through his body. “And I’m a freak that apparently has friends.”

“You have people to protect. Fallens are typically orphans, with no one to tether them. You care about others, maybe not a great deal of others, but there’s enough there for your grace to decide that you might need to heal them.” Deucalion sipped his tea. “I don’t get the reference to silver, though.”

Jackson frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The silver flames around your halo and the silver on your sword. Black and silver is a good combination, but it still doesn’t make any sense.” Deucalion pursed his lips. “Maybe it has something to do with your mate.”

Jackson shrugged. He had no idea who his mate was. “Any way to find out?”

Deucalion smiled and shook his head. “You’re an impatient one, kid.” He finished his tea and sat back. “As clichéd as it sounds, you’ll know. Maybe a touch. Maybe a fight. Maybe even just a look. Whatever it is, you’ll know it.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, drinking his tea and feeling it soothe his aching shoulders. “You’re right, that is clichéd as hell.”

“I know.” Deucalion stood up. “Now, what do you know about wing anatomy and etiquette?”

“There’s anatomy and etiquette?”

“That answers that, I guess.” Deucalion spread his wings, showing off their full length, which almost took up the entire length of the kitchen. Jackson’s eyes widened, staring at them. The wings settled behind Deucalion again. “Angelesques are notorious for peacocking. What I just did, that was me peacocking. Showing off the full length and every feather is a way to entice others, makes them want to stare and touch. It’s also a way to make other angelesques feel inadequate.”

Jackson nodded, taking in all the information. He had thought that Deucalion was just stretching his wings, as he needed to stretch his. If he kept them behind him for too long, they felt stiff. He assumed there was a difference between a stretch and peacocking.

“Demonesques are different. If they like someone, their tail tends to take on a mind of its own.”

Jackson tilted his head, thinking on Scott’s tail. It seemed to curl around his own leg more than anything, as though trying to offer some kind of comfort. “What if it’s around their leg?”

“Their tails are similar to a cat’s tail. If it’s curled around their leg, they’re relaxed. But we’re talking wings here. If your mate is a demonesque, they can tell you about their tails.” Deucalion brought his wings up behind him, the fold looming over his head, wings spreading slightly, making Deucalion appear larger. “This is intimidation.” The wings kept the same height, but instead of the feathers resting against the shoulders, the wing moved back, the inside on the outside. “This represents anger.”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder at his wings. He had them sitting up higher than normal, as he didn’t like the feel of his feathers on the floor. He had been unwillingly trying to intimidate Deucalion. He lowered his wings, letting the feathers rest on the floor. It still felt weird and Deucalion nodded, his own wings relaxing behind him.

“Touching an angelesque’s wings without their permission is a punishable offense,” Deucalion said as he sat down. “I’m guessing you’ve noticed how sensitive your wings are, even in their ethereal form.” Jackson nodded. “In order to keep your real wings glossy, you’ll need to oil them. There are glands near the arches.” His right wing bent awkwardly over his shoulder and he rubbed a section, which had his eyes fluttering, but as he straightened his wing, Jackson saw it become even glossier. “The glands are…basically a g-spot for angelesques. If you get your mate to oil your wings, you will orgasm from it.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and he felt heat creeping onto his cheeks. He hadn’t even thought about that. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about finding a mate or having sex. His mind had two things on it – lacrosse and now, being a Fallen. He cleared his throat and nodded, sitting back.

“As a Fallen, if anyone touches your wings without your permission, you will kill them. Every angelesque feels a great anger take over them if their wings are touched without permission,” Deucalion went on, leaning forward. “Touching their wings is the equivalent of rape. Do _not_ touch anyone’s wings without permission.”

Jackson nodded, swallowing. He wasn’t going to lie, he was a little scared about having someone touching his wings. He still wasn’t sure if he could murder someone, but knowing that others felt the same way about their wings being touched helped calm him a little. He was only fourteen and the idea of murder still shook him. Not as much as it did when he first learned he was a Fallen, but it was still there.

Deucalion stood up again. His wings spread out behind him slightly. “This is how angelesque’s greet each other.” The wings cupped his arms and shoulders. “It says that I’m not a threat. Try it.”

Jackson stood up and flexed his wings, trying to get them to sit the same way as Deucalion’s. The man shook his head and Jackson twitched his wings. There was another shake of the head and Jackson glared, wings raising higher behind him. He rolled his shoulders and forced his wings to relax. He crossed his arms and his wings wrapped around him, blocking his body from view.

“That’s…not very welcoming,” Deucalion said.

“I can’t tell someone I’m not a threat. I’m a _Fallen_ ,” Jackson stated and Deucalion tapped his chin in thought. “I’m nothing but a threat.”

“True,” Deucalion agreed and dropped his hand. “But if you want to make it in the world, you need to learn how to greet angelesques without offending their mothers.”

“How about this?” Jackson lowered his eyes, focusing on the tingle. He felt his wings vanish from behind him and looked up. He extended his hand. “Hi.”

Deucalion smirked and shook his head. “Even that sounded threatening,” he said and shook Jackson’s hand.

Jackson took his hand back and shrugged. “Probably because it’s you and I’m tired, sore and hungry.”

“There’s pizza in the fridge, kid,” Deucalion said as he sat down and Jackson went to the fridge, grabbing the box and placing two slices on a plate. He could feel Deucalion watching him. “You’ve gotten the hang of using your grace.”

“It’s a thought process,” Jackson said with a shrug. “I just need to concentrate. Some might have a problem with that, but I don’t.” He put the plate in the microwave and heated the pizza, returning the box to the fridge. “How many Fallens are there?”

“There are five registered Fallens. Next year, you’ll become the sixth registered Fallen,” Deucalion answered and Jackson frowned over his shoulder. “All Fallens must be registered. You’re literally the only people that can murder and if caught can say, ‘I’m a Fallen.’ It’ll probably terrify the cops that arrest you and if registered, you can be looked up. Being registered is your get out of jail free card.”

Jackson nodded slowly, his back to Deucalion. He turned around and rested against the counter, staring at the man. “But doesn’t that mean I’ll be open for business?”

“Considering the youngest registered Fallen is pushing fifty, yes. You will be in high demand.” Deucalion gazed at Jackson. “You don’t seem bothered by that.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to act outraged by it,” Jackson said with a shrug. It was true. The idea was losing its hideousness by the second. The more he thought about it, the more right it felt to kill someone.

Deucalion nodded as the microwave beeped and Jackson grabbed the plate, returning to the table. “Also, there’s something else you should know about your wings,” he said and Jackson looked at him expectantly. “There’s a branch of humans known as ‘Angel Killers.’ They collect wings from angelesques.”

Jackson froze, mouth around the pizza slice as he stared at Deucalion. He removed the slice. “Why?”

Deucalion shrugged. “Money. What else? People want wings or horns on their wall. Black wings are highly prized, because of their rarity.”

Jackson nodded and ate the pizza, keeping his eyes down. Alan had said that taking an angelesque’s wings was a cruel way to kill someone. How could anyone think Fallens were the worst thing in existence when people like Angel Killers were around? He’ll never understand how others think. He could wipe out an entire bloodline, but he would make sure it was quick and clean. He wouldn’t make them suffer unnecessarily.

“And what about those that take horns?” Jackson asked as he picked up the second slice.

“Horn Gleaners.” Deucalion shook his head, disgusted. “If you’re lucky, you’ll never come across any of them. If you’re really lucky, they won’t be there to collect your wings.”

Jackson ate the pizza, glaring at the table. His parents were demonesques and he didn’t want to think of the idea of some asshole cutting their horns off, just so someone could display them. He finished his pizza and took the plate to the sink, washing it. Danny had beautiful wings and so did Stiles, whose wings had a mother-of-pearl iridescence to them.

Lowering his eyes, Jackson frowned as he thought about Angel Killers going after Stiles. That angered him as much as it did thinking about Danny losing his wings. The strangest part was that Stiles and he weren’t really friends. They played on the same team, but Jackson never thought to call Scott and Stiles to hang out after practice or a game. Yet, his anger boiled at the idea of either of them being injured for money.

Turning around, Jackson stared at Deucalion. “What’s normal behavior for a Fallen? You and your wife were childhood friends. So, having at least one friend can’t be too…unusual.”

“There are exceptions to every rule,” Deucalion said and sat back. “But the rule of thumb is that Fallens are loners, as though that’s the reason for their anger at the world. The only constant I’ve found with them is that they have no issue with murder, they have the crown of thorns halo, black wings and their grace is immense.” He paused and glanced at Jackson. “Though, Fallens also don’t suffer from grace poisoning.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jackson muttered and sat down again.

“All angelesques go through some stage of it,” Deucalion explained gently. “Even I did. Sometimes, the grace is too strong for the body to handle and it consumes them, poisoning the body. A third of angelesques die every year from it.”

Jackson frowned. “What about demonesques? Do they get stigma poisoning?”

Deucalion smiled without emotion. “No. They’re pretty much fine. Sometimes, their horns can get confused and come in the wrong way, killing them. But that’s so rare it’s basically an urban legend at this point. Angelesques are the ones to suffer the most.”

“No shit,” Jackson said and crossed his arms. “I’m kind of grateful to be Fallen.” He lowered his eyes, pursing his lips for a moment. “What are Fallen and Disgraced?”

“The best way I can describe them is Fallens are angels of old, messengers and deliverers of justice – for a price. The Disgraced are the ones with tainted grace. We’re more demonesque than angelesque, despite the wings and halo. Thankfully, we’re rare, as well.”

_Angels of old,_ Jackson thought as he nodded. “So…Fallens are those that haven’t evolved into angelesques?” he asked slowly with a frown.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Deucalion said with a shrug. “Another way is see them as something that didn’t change, because why mess with perfection?”

Jackson looked up, tilting his head. He never would’ve thought of it that way and he definitely liked it. A smirk curved his lips, thinking of himself as perfect. He was a long way from it, needing to work on his weapon and magic, but once he completed all that… _Perfection_.

\--

Panting, Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow. He glared at Deucalion, who was standing six feet from him, the staff hovering by his right hand. Jackson’s body was littered with small cuts from the chains and he knew his wings were sitting in the angry position. Attacking a ranged fighter was a lot more difficult than he thought it would be, if he was being honest.

Deucalion’s staff could lash out up to ten feet and he had perfect control over it. Jackson had spent most of the last week dodging attacks, while he had yet to get even remotely close to Deucalion. He was told to work on his skill, but he couldn’t do that as instinct kept taking over, which was telling to just charge forward and sink his sword into the man’s chest.

The staff came for him again, forcing Jackson to jump back. The segments opened and he frowned at the chain. He landed lightly and his wings stretched back further, which had Deucalion tilting his head. Jackson wasn’t sure if that meant he was furious or if he was excited, because he was super excited about the next attack. He walked closer to Deucalion, sword hovering by his right palm.

Deucalion straightened his shoulders, his wings exceptionally shiny in the sunlight. The staff came for him again, the segments separating. Jackson slammed his foot over one of the segments and his sword sliced through the weak link in the chain he saw earlier. He wrapped the chain for the next segment around his foot and ankle, ignoring the pain of the spikes digging into him and ripped the weapon from Deucalion’s hand, before he charged at the man, sword raised and ready to kill.

Jackson stopped before he murdered his mentor, hand around his throat and eyes flashing. Breathing heavily, Jackson stepped back and blinked. Training was getting out of hand when he had to think so hard about not killing someone. Deucalion just smiled and nodded at him, like he fully expected to die by the end of the year.

Deucalion recalled his broken whip, all of it gathering up. “Good. You mixed instinct and skill, then.” He patted Jackson on the shoulder. “Your next test will be taking on two previous students of mine.”

Jackson tilted his head and turned around, hearing two sets of feet coming towards him. He frowned at the twins that were approaching, they were talking to each other. They were at least a year or two older than him. They clearly had more training, their bodies were more developed and they were demonesques. How was he meant to win against opponents that were more advanced? Deucalion was holding back for training purposes.

“Aiden, Ethan, meet Jackson,” Deucalion said.

The demonesque twins stared at Jackson’s wings, which had him pulling them back and away from his eyes. They glanced at each other and shrugged, before they grinned and stepped forward, extending their hands and introducing themselves. Jackson tilted his head and shook their hands. He stepped back and waited for what they were going to do.

Jackson frowned as something was placed over his eyes. “Your instinct is your strongest point,” Deucalion said as the sash was tied. Jackson opened his mouth to protest when something was placed in his ears. “Let instinct guide you.”

Jackson tilted his head and realized he couldn’t hear or see a thing. He could feel the sun beating down on him and smell the dirt, which was tinged with a faint order of horse manure. He relaxed his wings, feeling the eyes of the twins on them. His heart pounded in his ears as his body tensed, preparing for the attack he knew was coming. The breeze ruffled his wings, but there was something else. There was a warm wind at his back and he turned to the side, wings flapping as he moved back a foot.

Sword hovering by his hand, Jackson could feel the three of them watching him. He couldn’t handle two unseen opponents and he had to deal with Deucalion as well. Someone that was far older and more experienced than him. Someone that knew what he was doing and didn’t have two of his major senses blocked.

Reminding himself that it was training, Jackson inhaled deeply. He gripped his sword and took his stance, waiting for them to attack. The twins came first. His wings felt the rush of air as they moved. He blocked one of their attacks with his sword and caught the wrist of the other, wishing he had another weapon to use. He needed to defend both sides. After shoving the twins back, Jackson felt the magic tingling by his left hand and grinned. He had another sword hovering by his left palm. He was a dual-wielder.

One of the twins attacked from the left and Jackson felt their swords meet. He twisted his wrist, the pommel cutting somewhere, the blood dripping onto his hand, before he kicked him away. Something told him that the staff was coming towards him. It wrapped around his left sword and his right sword sliced through the chain like it was butter. He grinned, wings flapping behind him.

_This is training_ , he reminded himself as swords came at him from both sides. He could almost hear the ringing of the metal clashing. The vibrations up his arm every time he blocked an attack and the pain from his knuckles when he punched one was almost euphoric. He knew where their weak spots were as they moved. Their weapons were heavier than his, more often than not they had to use two hands. He could feel that in the way their attacks landed on him. Killing them would be so easy.

_Training!_ His mind was screaming that one word at him and it was starting to annoy Jackson. He knew it was training, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have fun. His instincts were so on point that even Jackson felt like it was an unfair advantage. He swept the feet out from under one of the twins and knelt on his abdomen, sword raised and ready to pierce the heart. His wings beat and he kicked the one running at him across the jaw, landing on his feet.

The last one was the other twin. His swords hovered by his palms as he turned towards the twin and tilted his head, smirk on his face. His wings beat again and he vanished to the right, appearing behind the twin and wrapping an arm around the throat. He could feel the twin struggling against him and Jackson was surprised he was that strong. He had muscles, but it was impossible for him to be stronger than someone that was older than him. His swords continued to hover at his sides as he and the twin sank to the ground.

Before he could choke the life out of the twin, someone rushed him again. He released the twin on the ground and his hand shot out, grabbing the other around the throat. His fist met their face several times, before he realized that he could see the blood on the face of the other twin. Behind him was Deucalion, who was saying _stop_. Jackson frowned and let go of the twin, removing the earplugs and shaking his head.

“Can we do that again?” Jackson asked.

Deucalion frowned as he approached Jackson. “You’re not even fighting it, are you?” he asked as he circled the teenager. “You just fall right into instinct.”

“In my defense, you attacked me,” Jackson said with a shrug, realizing that he was right. He hadn’t moved until the twins attacked him. “I don’t attack for the fun of it.”

Aiden groaned and rubbed his abdomen, raising his shirt, the beginnings of a bruise already showing. He wiped the blood from his nose. “You’re one aggressive angelesque, man,” he said, while Ethan rubbed his throat.

Jackson shrugged. He was guessing that he didn’t get so lost in the attack that his halo showed up and Deucalion gave a nod. “Sorry. Had to test my skills and instinct,” he said.

“Are you boys all right?” Deucalion asked as he checked their bodies, making sure they weren’t injured too badly.

Ethan coughed and nodded. “Are you sure he’s an angelesque? He fights like he’s got demonesque blood in him,” he said and swallowed.

“I was raised by demonesques,” Jackson said and pulled out his cell phone when it chimed out a message. He frowned at the unknown number and opened the text message, seeing that someone wanted him to complete a contract. “Old timer, anyone know about me?”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Deucalion answered, glancing at Jackson. “What’s wrong, kid?” Jackson went up to Deucalion and handed him his phone. Deucalion read the message and smirked. “That’s divine intervention, kid. My wife got the same messages from that number. The first few are before your name is out there and usually has something to do with your mate.”

Aiden and Ethan stared at Jackson, as though trying to read his mind. They turned their eyes to Deucalion, who shook his head at them. Jackson read the message again, seeing that the contract was in Beacon Hills, someone named Raymond Garland. He had never heard of the person, but the contract was plain as day. His pay was already in his account, when he checked it.

“I’m fourteen,” Jackson said with a frown and Deucalion stared at him. “Why so early?”

Ethan glared. “We lost to a fourteen year old?” he demanded and growled, his bright green horns, similar to an elk’s, flashed into existence for a few moments.

“You two should probably head inside, have some tea,” Deucalion said. Aiden and Ethan hesitated for a moment, before they nodded and went into the house. “Fallens don’t present as early as you for a reason. Your first contract usually isn’t someone you care about. As you go along, you might have to kill your best friend or a past lover. Something in you clearly thought you were old enough, mature enough to handle your line of work.”

Jackson frowned at his phone, unsure if Deucalion was right. He sure didn’t feel ready to return to Beacon Hills and kill someone he didn’t know. There were no details given about why he was targeted, just that he was and he had to die. Jackson was going to assume that was a good thing. He wasn’t sure if he could handle killing someone if he knew they had a family waiting for them.

“Just listen to your instincts, kid,” Deucalion said, placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “They won’t lead you astray and they’ll tell you exactly how you should punish the target.”

Jackson stared at Deucalion. The man seemed to have the utmost confidence in him, despite the two months of training he had. “How long did it take your wife to receive her first contract?”

“Everyone’s first contract comes in at different times,” Deucalion answered and straightened. “Fallens aren’t meant to present as early as you, but here you are. Remember, keep your halo hidden at all times.”

Jackson nodded and swallowed, realizing that he was meant to kill Raymond Garland tomorrow. He bought a ticket online back to Beacon Hills and got a cab there. He changed clothes and took a change with him, in case he got covered in blood. He didn’t know what a contract entailed and he was worried he would find out how messy they were.

* * *

Back in Beacon Hills, Jackson felt strange. He wanted to call everyone he knew and tell them he was back, but also knew he would return to Twin Falls the next day. Seeing Danny and showing off his wings was taking up most of his mind. He checked the name of the hotel that Raymond was staying in and knocked shoulders with someone, glaring at them. She glanced at him and then his wings, before she swallowed and apologized. Fear, her eyes were filled with it.

Shaking his head, Jackson pushed the idea of seeing anyone he knew from his mind and slipped into a cab. He gave the name of the hotel and ignored every attempt made at small talk. He stared out the window, watching as the familiar sights bypassed him. He felt like a stranger in his own hometown, knowing that if anyone he knew saw his wings, they would probably fear him.

The driver shrugged and turned on the radio. ‘In other news, there has been no development on the assault and murder of local woman, Paige Krasikeva,’ the news anchor said and Jackson frowned. That name struck a chord with him, though he knew he had never heard it before now. She was tied in with his contract, which had him tilting his head. How did he know that?

At the hotel, Jackson paid the driver and slipped out, feathers ruffling in the breeze. Nice to know that Beacon Hills was as cold as Twin Falls at night. He checked the floor Raymond was on, seeing that it was seventh floor. He couldn’t keep the smirk from his face and walked around the building, until he stopped and stared up at a balcony. There was a strange pull towards it. Jumping up, Jackson beat his wings and landed silently on the balcony railing, gazing through the door.

Raymond was walking around the living area of the room, shouting into his cell phone. “I don’t care! You’re my attorney, Douglas! It’s your job to make sure I don’t go down for that bitch’s murder!” His moose-like black horns were materializing as he spoke to his lawyer.

Jackson slipped off the railing and up to the door. He stood there, watching as Raymond continued to pace and shout. Paige was his mate and he was calling her a bitch. Jackson knew that demonesques didn’t have much regard for life, but he knew they were meant to care about their mates. There was always the exception to every race, of course. Scott’s dad and Raymond were the exception. They were the demonesques that other demonesques hated and would kill if it was legal for them.

The door wasn’t locked and Jackson opened it, slipping into the room. Raymond was so caught up in making sure he wasn’t arrested for Paige’s murder that he didn’t notice. Jackson shook his head, his left hand twitching. A black feather with a yellow sheen appeared between his fingers and he raised it, looking at it. Raymond finished shouting at his attorney and hung up, turning around and staring at Jackson.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded and Jackson tilted his head.

“ _Będę się za ciebie modlił_ ,” Jackson said and threw the feather.

He snapped his fingers and his eyes widened when Raymond screamed. His bones seemed to burn away to nothing, as though they were being eaten by acid. Jackson blinked and reset his face as Raymond coughed up blood that was boiling, bubbling and foaming. He collapsed into a heap on the floor, looking and smelling far worse than Jackson thought. However, the contract was complete and he knew what the yellow sheened feathers did. He wasn’t sure if he would ever need to use them again, as he just wanted to make Raymond suffer for what he had done, but it was still nice to know what his feathers did.

Going out to the balcony, Jackson took to the sky and shivered as the cool night air seemed to chill his wings. He beat them, wanting them to warm up a little. He circled around and found his home. With a grin, he landed in the backyard, surprised to see his parents out there with Talia and Laura Hale. The four demonesques stared at him and Jackson blinked at them, before he walked up to the back deck and hugged his parents.

His mother stammered for a moment, before she returned the hug. “What are you doing home, sweetheart?” she asked and ran her eyes over him, as though he was injured.

“Contract,” Jackson answered before he could stop it. Talia and Laura tensed for a moment. “I have a contract to discuss with you, Dad,” he added, before he turned to Talia and Laura. “Good evening.”

Talia smiled and held her hand out. “Good evening, Jackson,” she greeted, eyes focused on his wings. “What beautiful wings you have.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said politely and turned to Laura. “Good evening, Laura.”

With a smile, Laura shook his hand. “How are you, Jackson?” she asked, before she nudged her mother, who was still staring at Jackson’s wings.

“I’m well, thank you.” Jackson entered the house and grabbed a glass of orange juice, frowning as he heard people in the living room. He could see who it was, but he was just going to enjoy his juice and then go to bed. Sleeping on his bed sounded like heaven.

With his juice finished, Jackson rinsed the glass and frowned as his phone chimed. He checked the message, blinking at the message that was clearly another contract. He literally finished his first contract less than an hour ago. He opened the message and read the details. That one was located in China and he didn’t recognize the family name or the fact that there were dozens of names within the contract. He had a week to fly out and kill the people, which told him that he needed to speak with Deucalion before that happened.

Stepping out of the kitchen, Jackson called the man in Vermont and glanced down the hallway, making sure the people in the living room stayed in there. “Something wrong, kid?”

“I just received another contract. How is that possible?”

“That is strange. Did anything weird happen while you were killing?”

“No,” Jackson answered as he went upstairs. “I killed the mark and came home, just to sleep in my bed.”

“Who did you meet?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you met someone that wasn’t your parents, chances are the contract came from them, without them realizing it,” Deucalion explained and Jackson heard the bedsprings creak. “Did you let it slip that you were a Fallen?”

“Without thinking,” Jackson answered and slipped into his bedroom. “Pretty sure I covered it, though.” He flipped on the light and found that nothing had changed. “Is this my life, now? I’m just going to receive contracts from divine intervention and fly out to strange countries?”

“Sounds like it. We still need to work on your magic, though.”

Jackson sighed and nodded, falling face first onto his bed. “I’ll be back within the week,” he said and kicked off his shoes. “See you then, old timer.” He hung up, before he jogged downstairs. “Mom, where’s my passport?” he asked as he entered the kitchen. He looked up and blinked, seeing a male in the kitchen. “You’re not my Mom.”

“Games room,” he answered and Jackson nodded, jogging down the hallway.

“Mom,” Jackson said as he entered and made sure she was in the room. He smiled when she was. “Where’s my passport?”

David frowned for a moment, before he smiled at Talia and stood up. “In the safe, of course. I’ll get it for you.” He stepped up to Jackson and took hold of his arm, pulling him out of the room. “And you can explain why you need it, since you’re meant to be going back to Vermont,” he hissed.

“Contract,” Jackson answered as he was pulled into the study. “Got one in China.”

David opened the safe and sifted through the passports, grabbing Jackson’s. He turned around and stared at his son. “Learning who you are and how to control it is more important than going on killing sprees.”

Jackson grabbed his passport, smiling sweetly at his father. “Divine intervention. All Fallens receive it. Someone or something thinks I’m ready. I won’t use my magic until I’ve worked on it.”

“Jackson…”

That tone of voice meant that he was about to receive a lecture. “Dad,” Jackson said, plucking the passport from his father’s fingers. “My life has been flipped on its head in the last couple of months. I’m adopted, I’m an angelesque, I’m a Fallen and I’m not even living at home anymore. I hate to tell you this, but I’m going to China to kill some people and I’m gonna have fun doing it.”

Running upstairs, Jackson packed a travel bag and pulled his shoes back on. He ordered a ticket online and grabbed his bag, heading back down. He was waiting for confirmation through his email that his ticket was purchased when a shadow fell over him. He blinked and looked up, seeing the only son of the Hale family. He nodded and moved over to the front hall, finally receiving the confirmation.

“Congratulations,” a male voice said and Jackson looked over his shoulder and around his wing. “On your change,” he added. Jackson raised an eyebrow, but nodded again. “Where are you headed?”

“Out,” Jackson answered and opened the door, ordering an Uber. He paused and looked back at the other. “What’s your name again?”

“Derek Hale.”

“Right,” Jackson said. “Nice to meet you.”

Derek frowned. “We’ve met before,” he said and Jackson blinked at him.

Taking in Derek’s appearance, Jackson was almost certain he would remember meeting someone that good looking, dressed in basically garage grunge. “If we have, you look nothing like I remember.” He checked his phone and saw that his ride was only a few minutes away. “What are you and your family doing here?”

“Dinner,” Derek answered with a shrug. “We were told that you were in a horrible accident and you were out of State to recover.” He ran his eyes over Jackson, eyes lingering on the wings. “You look fine.”

Jackson may have forgotten that he was meant to be in recovery for some horrible accident. He nodded and glanced at his phone when it vibrated. “Good meeting you…” He trailed off, forgetting the man’s name. “Hale.”

Closing the door behind himself, Jackson slipped into the backseat of his Uber and sat back. At least a week in China to find all the names on the list, names and faces he probably wouldn’t recognize didn’t sound like a fun time. Spending a night with the Hales, listening to all the boring conversations about work sounded far more interesting. Or maybe it was just the son that had him interested. He couldn’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed! Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello, my dear! Thank you for taking this story's comment cherry! I can't believe how quickly you reviewed this one and it made my laugh and grin like a complete fool. Honestly, the description of Jackson and Danny's friendship is very similar to the one I have with my best friend. We'll never abandon each other, regardless of what happens. And yes, everyone has beautiful wings. As for the wing question, when they're in their ethereal form (which they are before they manifest fully), they can fit into small spaces without any pain. Thank you so much for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Can't wait to hear from you again.
> 
> Guest1701: Yes, all the questions and I love that you have them! I think this chapter answered the ones you have and if it didn't, there are more chapters coming that will explain them. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Hello and welcome! That was probably one of the nicest comments I've ever received. Thank you so much! And thank you so much for the hearts! I love hearts. =3
> 
> Tpadimo: Hola tú. Muchas gracias por el comentario y espero que sigan disfrutando de esta historia. No puedo esperar a tener noticias tuyas de nuevo.
> 
> Thank you everyone that left kudos! Hope you enjoyed the update as well.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	3. Returning Home

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

**November**

Back in Vermont after the slaughter in China, Jackson stared at Deucalion. His mind wasn’t on what the man was trying to explain to him. He was still thinking about the people he murdered. He had wiped out an entire bloodline of demonesques, including illegitimate offspring. He never thought he would have to kill women and teenagers, but he had. Dozens had died by his sword and something, some tiny voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he should feel bad about it.

The larger part of his mind was telling him that everything was fine. He had done a clean job. It took him three days to get every name on the list, but he had done a good job and completed the contract. The payment for it had Jackson staring at his bank account, unable to believe all the zeroes that were on the end of the number. He wasn’t even fifteen and he was already a millionaire, just by completing a couple of contracts.

_You’re a monster_ , the tiny voice in his head screamed and Jackson frowned. Was he? Was it his fault that he was a Fallen, instead of a demonesque? No one knew anything about his bloodline, but from what Deucalion said, any bloodline could have a Fallen in it. It depended on the grace that entered the body. Jackson happened to get the grace of a Fallen, which was probably why he wasn’t sure how to feel about the China contract. The Beacon Hills contract was fine. He killed a murdering rapist. The demonesques in China hadn’t done anything to him or to anyone he knew, as far as he was aware.

Something was freezing in his shoulder. Blinking back to reality, Jackson looked at his left shoulder and his eyes widened, seeing an icicle sticking out from it. He glared at Deucalion, who was shaking his head. Jackson figured he was distracted, but he thought his instincts would at least kick in and let him dodge that attack. He looked like a moron for standing there and taking it.

“What has you so distracted that you took that like a porn star?” Deucalion demanded as he stormed up to Jackson and removed the icicle from his shoulder. “Do you…” He trailed off and gazed at Jackson. “Do you even feel that?”

“I will when the chill disappears,” Jackson spat and sighed. “I was thinking of the contract in China. There were kids on the list. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“You let them live?” Deucalion asked as he led Jackson into the house.

“Fuck no! I killed all of them. I wasn’t about to half-ass a job,” Jackson stated as he sat down in the kitchen. He hissed as the chill started to wear off and he could feel how breathing was pulling on the torn muscles and tendons. “I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

Deucalion nodded as he got his special tea. “My wife was the same way. Her first contract dealing with an entire bloodline…it almost broke her.” He pressed a dishtowel to the front hole. “As terrible as it sounds, it gets easier the more you do it.”

“That’s the problem,” Jackson said and winced. “I don’t have that much of an issue with it. There’s a small part of me that thinks I’m a monster. And yeah, I might be, but…I’m not changing who or what I am.” He exhaled shakily as his left shoulder jerked.

“Being a Fallen takes a toll on your mind, the longer you do it, kid,” Deucalion said, taking Jackson’s right hand and pressing it to the dishtowel that was soaked with his blood. He made the tea and placed the cup in front of Jackson. “You’ll eventually get to someone you know. It might take decades, but it’ll happen. Then it comes down to them or you.”

Jackson dropped the dishtowel and sipped the tea. Deucalion was speaking from experience and his eyes widened. He stared at the man. “Your wife got a contract on you, didn’t she?” Deucalion stared down at the table. Jackson winced, from the pain in his shoulder and from that knowledge. “You killed her?”

Deucalion sighed and nodded. “She didn’t want to live without me. When a Fallen claims their mate, everything in their life seems to make more sense. They love with their entire being. Losing their mate can kill them, as well. There’s nothing half-assed when it comes to a Fallen. They put their all into everything.”

Jackson nodded slowly, taking another sip of the tea. He could feel it moving through his body, healing the hole in his shoulder. The idea of finding his mate and then having to kill them wasn’t one that sat well with Jackson. He would rather be alone for his entire existence, than to find love and have to murder it in the face. Since he wasn’t entirely sure what Deucalion meant, he couldn’t be sure if he would take the contract or have his mate kill him instead.

Lowering his eyes, Jackson finished his tea. He had no idea what his mate would be like. They needed to be a fighter, that was a given. He couldn’t be with anyone if they didn’t know to defend themselves. It would be a trial through battle for him, which felt right and normal. He had no doubt that angelesques and demonesques found their mates that way.

“Did you see the Cleaners during your contract?” Deucalion asked suddenly and Jackson blinked at him. “They’re a sect of humans that clean up after Fallens and mate battles.”

Jackson rolled his left shoulder as it healed over. “How do they know if it’s a Fallen’s work?”

“Cleaners are…unique humans. They can sense things about a dead body. They know if an angelesque or demonesque is dead because they were challenged for a mate or if a Fallen had killed them because of a contract.” Deucalion shrugged. “I don’t know how they work, but they just know these things.”

Jackson nodded and picked up the dishtowel once his shoulder was fully healed. He dumped the material in the laundry and went to the door, leading outside. He glanced at Deucalion, who raised an eyebrow. “I need to learn my magic, old man,” he said with a shrug.

Deucalion sighed and pulled himself up, following Jackson out of the house. “Okay, I was explaining that your grace is where your magic comes from…I assume you already know that.” Jackson nodded. “Your grace is responsible for everything. Your wings being ethereal or appearing physical, which would work for you. If you don’t want anyone knowing you’re a Fallen, making your wings look as real as possible is the best bet for that. Your grace is also what summons your weapons to your hands.”

Jackson nodded. He knew all of that. Whenever he wanted to do something, like hide his halo or wings or summon his weapon, he focused on the tingling. He was aware that the tingle was his grace coursing through his body. What he didn’t know was how to create magic. Deucalion clearly had ice magic, if the icicle sticking from his shoulder was anything to go by. Jackson wanted to know what he would have.

“Fallens don’t need spells to create their magic,” Deucalion went on and Jackson tilted his head. “You can learn spells, if you want. But more often than not, Fallens just need to think, focus their grace and they have it.”

Jackson blinked, but shrugged and decided to give a shot. Focusing on the tingling, he thought about… He had no idea. He didn’t know what he was meant to think about in order to create his magic. His mind went to his halo and the flames that surrounded the crown of thorns. He thought about fire and he felt something spark in his hands, raising them and staring at the silver flames that danced around his fingers and palms.

The flames moved up his arms as Jackson floated off the ground. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his wings, engulfing them. Deucalion’s eyes widened and he stepped back, staring at the wings of the Fallen that were covered entirely by silver flames, making the wings look like they were made of liquid silver. Jackson could feel the flames pulsating on his wings, the heat increasing, before he recalled it down to his hands and let the balls hover over his palms. He grinned and dropped to his feet lightly.

Jackson joined the two balls together in his hands, before he split it into six and made it one again. He smiled, thinking that it was almost like playing with goo. He threw the ball up into the air, where it exploded into glitter that was blown away on the breeze. He looked at Deucalion and grinned. Deucalion nodded at him and shot another icicle at him. Jackson caught it, suspending it between his hands. The one became five, taking on a silvery appearance that rallied behind Jackson, before he grinned and held his hands out. The icicles were fired at Deucalion, who brought up flames and then dodged when the icicles moved through the fire.

On a knee, Deucalion gazed at Jackson. “I don’t pity your enemies, kid,” he said and stood up. “I was expecting to tell you to rely on your instincts more. You fall into them like you’ve been doing this since you were born.”

Jackson nodded and crossed his arms, waiting for the next test. His instincts hadn’t led him astray so far and he wanted to work on his skills more. There would come a time when his instincts weren’t enough. His footwork was sloppy, despite Deucalion working on it with him. He spent too much time on his heel, instead of the balls of his feet, letting him turn quicker and more precisely. He knew the way he held his swords needed more work, as well. Yet, Deucalion was acting as though he could go home at the end of the month.

That wasn’t a bad thing for Jackson. Going home for Christmas would be awesome. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, attend his school and try out for the lacrosse team. He was almost certain he would need to wait for the next year for that, though. There were other sports he could try out for, though. Beacon Hills needed a decent swim team. In fact, Beacon Hills needed a decent everything, including mathletes and debate team.

“Show me ice,” Deucalion ordered and Jackson frowned. He thought on creating ice and held his hands out to the sides, shards of ice tinkling as they hovered above his palms. “Water.” Jackson frowned and the ice in his hands melted, becoming balls of water, which had a silvery appearance. “Earth.”

“Calm down, Captain Planet,” Jackson muttered and the water drew into itself, before it became sand and rock. “You want me to show heart, next?”

Deucalion frowned, confused and shook his head. “No idea what you’re talking about, kid,” he said and the earth vanished from Jackson’s hands. “How do you take down a ranged fighter?”

“Not entirely sure,” Jackson answered honestly. “Get me some ranged fighters to spar with.”

Deucalion smiled and a black bow appeared in his hand. Jackson’s eyes widened and took half a step back. “Our grace makes anything possible, kid. Plus, I wanted to let you know that there will be surprises.”

An arrow appeared in Deucalion’s hand and he drew it back. Jackson stepped to the side, sword hovering by his right hip. Deucalion could manifest the arrows quickly, firing every three and a half seconds. Swallowing, Jackson tried to find a weakness. He smirked and jumped up, forcing Deucalion to follow him with the bow. As soon as he heard a groan, he descended on the Disgraced and knocked him to the ground, knee on his throat and blade through the wrist he held the bow with.

“An old hunter’s trick,” he said and Deucalion gasped. Jackson stood up, a black feather with a blue sheen appearing in his left hand. He removed the blade in the man’s wrist and shoved the feather into his throat. He straightened and snapped his fingers. The wound on the wrist healed over and Deucalion sat up, rubbing it. “I’d use the cover of darkness during the night,” he went on and Deucalion nodded.

“Tonight, we’ll test that.”

\--

It was a new moon that night. Jackson slipped out of the house, knowing that Deucalion was still inside. He checked his options, seeing that there were very few trees on the property. Deucalion would expect that, for him to sit and wait in a tree. He glanced at the roof of the house and tilted his head. No. Deucalion would expect him to take a position of height. He wouldn’t expect Jackson to stay on the ground and wait for him.

Jogging over to the stables, Jackson slipped inside, hearing the horses nicker at the door being opened. They quietened down when they decided he wasn’t a threat and Jackson waited. He had left his cell phone back in the bedroom, which he was regretting. As the minutes rolled by, Jackson was growing more bored and considered exploding the house, just to make Deucalion move.

Squinting, Jackson stared at a window on the second floor. He could have sworn he just saw something moving up there. He lowered his eyes and listened, smirking when he heard the light footfalls of an angelesque running. Moving through the stables, Jackson went to the back door and slipped outside. He jumped up to the roof and scanned the area. Deucalion had gone to the trees on the edge of the property.

Hiding his wings as he didn’t want their ruffling to give him away, Jackson ran over to the trees. Deucalion had spotted him, as he didn’t make it any secret that he was running that way. He did use the darker shadows to his advantage and knew when Deucalion had lost sight of him. He jumped up to a branch, swinging up easily. Crouching, he strained his ears and heard the sound of a shoe on bark to his right. Turning carefully, so as not to make the same mistake, Jackson moved through the tree.

Deucalion was searching below for him. Jackson stepped onto the branch, making sure his movements didn’t set off any vibrations. He tapped Deucalion on his left shoulder, where he was standing and he instantly turned to the right, expecting Jackson to try and fool him. With the man’s back to him, Jackson wrapped an arm around his throat and forced him to his knees.

“I also used my youth to my advantage,” he said and shoved Deucalion away.

“Good. Your youth will be your biggest asset. No one will expect a Fallen to be as young as you are.” Deucalion rubbed his throat. “Did you have to chokehold me so tightly?”

“Of course,” Jackson said with a shrug. “I had to make sure you knew I beat you.”

The pair dropped from the branch and made their way back to the house. Deucalion turned on the light in the kitchen and checked his throat in a small mirror. “That’s going to bruise,” he said and Jackson shrugged again. “You need to practice your skills, but I’ve taught you everything you need to know. Everything else is on you perfecting them.”

Jackson sat down and nodded. He knew the high school had an afterschool program for those that had swords as their weapons. He could always join it and beat the living hell out of some people. That would be around lacrosse practice, though and probably swim practice, as well as the debate team. It didn’t hurt to put his parents’ teachings to the test. Demonesques were brilliant at public speaking, after all. It was how they typically manipulated people and most of them ran for some kind of political office.

“Just remember that those with black wings are feared,” Deucalion said as he sat down and placed a mug of hot cocoa in front of Jackson. “Your friends may turn from you. I hope you’re ready to deal with that.”

“I’m going into my first year at high school, old timer,” Jackson said and sat back. “Being ostracized because of my wings? Yeah, that’s not gonna fuck with my mental health.”

Deucalion stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“No one wants to be ostracized in high school, man.” Jackson frowned. “Jesus, how old are you that you can’t remember those years?”

“I was home schooled,” Deucalion said with a shrug. “Black wings usually meant death in my day. It was better to be gay than have black wings.”

Jackson sipped the cocoa, eyebrows up. “Sounds like a good time,” he muttered into the mug, sitting back and licking the foam from his upper lip. “My school has a program for swords. I can see if the mentor there can help me.”

“If they can’t, find someone that has a sword and train with them. Perfecting your skills will help a lot with your contracts,” Deucalion said and Jackson nodded, lowering his eyes.

For the life of him, Jackson couldn’t remember who had a sword in Beacon Hills. His father had a whip and his mother had a bow. He would need to find an angelesque, as swords were typically their weapons. He doubted he would find another Fallen to train with, though that would be awesome. He doubted the area they trained in would survive the two of them, but it would be amazing to see what kind of damage they could do.

“And remember to _never_ show your halo. If your school discovers that you’re a Fallen, you’ll bring danger to everyone there. There are people that will want to kill a Fallen, just so they can obtain that status. If you do show your halo, make sure to kill anyone that sees it, unless you know you can trust them.” Deucalion finished his tea and stood up. “Finish your cocoa and get to bed. You leave in the morning.”

* * *

Jackson yawned as he got out of the cab in front of his house. He grabbed his suitcases and froze, feeling eyes on him. Glancing around, Jackson frowned at the house across the street from him. His last memory was that there was a For Sale sign on the lawn. In the three months he was away for, it was sold and new neighbors had moved in. He knew he should care, as he needed to make a good impression, but for the moment, he just wanted to get into his bed.

Sighing, Jackson grabbed his suitcases and went to the front door. He had texted his parents that he would be home that day. They told him they would be out of town for a conference. Muttering under his breath, Jackson unlocked the front door and entered the house, kicking a suitcase in front of him. As he passed the living room, heading straight for the stairs, he paused and his wings vanished from behind him. He stepped back and looked into the room, not seeing anything there.

Eyebrows furrowing for a moment, Jackson slipped into the living room, going to the hallway. He looked up and down, straining his ears. There was a rustle of feathers down the hallway. Sword hovering by his right thigh, Jackson moved down the hallway. They were in the downstairs bathroom. The toilet flushed and Jackson kicked the door off the hinges, grabbing the winged person and throwing out of the room. He grabbed his sword, managing to stop himself from murdering his best friend.

“Danny?!”

Blinking at him, Danny’s eyes were focused on the sword that was still poised to kill him. “Yeah, Jacks. It’s me, man,” he said harshly and cleared his throat. “You wanna let me up?”

“Shit.” Jackson stood back and helped Danny to his feet, his sword vanishing from his hand. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“Your folks told me you were coming home today,” Danny said and smiled, still nervous from the attack. “I got some snacks set up in the games room.”

Jackson’s ears twitched and he turned towards the games room door, hearing several pairs of wings rustling. “Sounds like a surprise party waiting,” he said and glanced at Danny, who grinned sheepishly. “You know I hate surprises.”

“No, I know you love saying that you hate surprises, but that you secretly love them. How can you hear them?” Danny narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “I can’t hear anything.”

“You seriously can’t hear the feathers ruffling? They’re getting impatient with us and I need to fix the door.” Jackson looked at the bathroom door and bit his lower lip.

His father came out of the games room and frowned at him. “What door?” he asked and Jackson stood in front of the bathroom.

“No door was harmed during the making of this surprise party,” Jackson said and sighed as his father walked up to him and saw the door in two pieces, gouges in the frame from where the hinges once sat and a cracked mirror. “In my defense, I thought someone had broken in.”

“Why would you think that?” David demanded, running his fingers over the frame.

“No one was meant to be here!” Jackson glared at his father, trying to tell him that a Fallen will defend their home to the death.

David shook his head, not looking at his son. “It’s going to cost a small fortune to fix this on a Saturday, Jackson,” he said and sighed. “Your friends are in the games room. Send your mother out.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and went to the games room. “Mom, Dad’s about to pop a vessel because of an accident. You might wanna make sure he’s still alive enough to pay for the repairs,” he said. His mother hugged him as she left the room. Jackson blinked at the group. “Surprise?”

That seemed to break the tension as his friends, those that were on the boys lacrosse team with him, laughed and slapped him on the back. Danny got him a soda, while his father called a repairman for the door and Jackson smiled, trying not to think about the fact that he spent three months away.

“You look good, man,” Stiles said as he hugged Jackson, whose eyes widened. “I thought you’d come back, all disfigured, like the Phantom of the Opera. Good to see you’re okay.”

Jackson smiled through a frown and nodded, forgetting, again, that he was meant to be returning from recovery after some horrible accident. He sipped the soda and made small talk with everyone, even Greenberg, just so no one felt left out. He was bored by the atmosphere of the room and stepped out, heading for the back deck. He could suddenly understand why Fallens were often loners. It was difficult to keep up the façade that he was normal and that he hadn’t just tried to murder his best friend.

“You okay?”

Jackson frowned and turned around, staring at Stiles. He honestly expected Danny to follow him out. “Yeah, just needed some fresh air. I got used to it in Vermont.”

Stiles grinned and nodded, standing beside Jackson and looking out over the backyard. “No more pain, then?” he asked and Jackson nodded, resting his arms against the railing. “It came as a shock to hear that you were in an accident, man. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t think Danny believed it, either. But considering what you did when you came home…” He glanced at Jackson. “You weren’t in an accident, were you? No one goes away for recovery and then comes home as a badass that will murder their best friend.”

Jackson stared at Stiles, wondering when he became so observant. As far as he could remember, no one was standing at the door to the games room. No one saw him almost run Danny through with a sword. Yet, Stiles was standing there, telling him exactly what happened. Maybe the crash of the bathroom door was louder than he thought and people got curious.

Instead, Jackson shrugged. “No idea what you’re talking about, man,” he said and finished his soda.

Stiles nodded and placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Whatever’s weighing you down, I hope you can tell someone about it,” he said and went back into the house.

Not even an hour back and Jackson had almost blown his cover. He threw his bottle at the boundary fence, watching it shatter. “Fuck!” He knew Deucalion would be shaking his head in disappointment at him.

It had been far easier in Vermont. He didn’t need to hide who or what he was. He could show off all his skills and even his wings. The only people in the house he could be himself around were more concerned about a damn door, instead of their son. Shaking his head, Jackson entered the house and went to the games room. The people he had known for years were in there, laughing and talking, not even realizing he wasn’t around.

“Out,” Jackson said and killed the music. “Everyone out.”

Everyone froze for a moment, glancing around, as though trying to figure out if Jackson was serious or not. Danny smiled and stepped up to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired. In case you haven’t heard, I just got back from recovery. I shouldn’t overdo it,” Jackson said. “Come on. Everyone get out.”

Danny frowned and nodded, ushering everyone out of the house. When he returned to the room, Jackson was slumped in a chair, holding his head. “Jacks, what’s wrong, man? You could be missing a lung and you’d never turn down a party,” Danny said as he sat beside Jackson.

Less than an hour it took him to realize how much he hated his life. Jackson was certain that had to be some kind of record. He went from being a badass in Vermont, to vapid, selfish Jackson Whittemore in Beacon Hills. He glanced at Danny and shook his head, knowing he was right. Before his change, he would be the one partying the hardest. Hell, with his parents out of the room, he would have been spiking the drinks. Instead, he had stepped outside, wanting a moment of peace.

“I can’t explain it, Danny,” Jackson said and sat back.

Danny placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Just try, man. You know I’m not going anywhere, for any reason.”

“What if I was Disgraced?”

Danny frowned and pulled back slightly. “What are you talking about, Jackson?” He seemed to remember that Jackson had a sword. “You’re Disgraced? I mean, that explains the black sword, but…that just means that you’re an angelesque that was raised by demonesques. So their influence tainted your grace.” He shrugged, but Jackson could see it in his eyes.

As much as he loved Danny, the idea of being around a Disgraced wasn’t sitting well with him. He forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m Disgraced,” he said, figuring that he could at least show his wings if the school thought of him as that.

“That’s going to take some getting used to, man. I always thought you’d be demonesque. I can’t believe I’m going to see you with wings and a halo.” Danny took Jackson’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m your best friend, man. Maybe if you were a Fallen, I might have to put some distance between us, but being Disgraced is fine.”

Jackson nodded and looked at the mess the crowd had created, sighing. “Thanks, man,” he said and stood up. “I better clean this before my parents get even angrier with me. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Remember, you can talk to me about anything.” Danny stood up and hugged Jackson, his feathers tickling Jackson’s fingers when he returned the hug. “At least I can safely say I was right. I’d have felt it if you were in an accident.”

Jackson smirked and playfully pushed Danny’s head back. “Of course you would’ve, man.” As soon as Danny left the room, the smirk fell from Jackson’s face. He shook his head and cleaned up the room. “I’ll pay for the damages,” he told his parents and went up to his bedroom.

* * *

Walking through the halls on Monday was interesting. People he went to middle school with stared at him, like he had just come back from the dead. He assumed the story about him being in an accident had spread around the school like wildfire. As Danny was the only one to think he was Disgraced, he wondered how long it would be before that one spread.

After getting his class schedule, Jackson found his locker and entered the combination. He growled as he was shoved against it, by a group of sophomores that were throwing a football. Rolling his shoulders, Jackson remembered that he was at school. Not every touch was an attack on him and he needed to handle his anger, which was the one thing Deucalion didn’t work on with him. It would be like before the change. All his anger would come out on the field.

He was shoved into his locker again and Jackson spun around, shoving the sophomore back and into the lockers across the hall. “Use your eyes, moron,” he snapped.

“Freshman thinks he’s tough,” a blond muscle head said and Jackson inhaled deeply. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Scared we’ll mess up those looks?”

Jackson faced the sophomore and fought not to flinch when he saw the face of him. “Something you don’t need to worry about, I see,” he said instead.

The sophomore’s dark green bull-like horns shimmered into existence, his tail whipping behind him as he glared at Jackson. “What did you say?” he asked as he stepped closer.

“I said me beating your face into a bloody mess would be an improvement,” Jackson said, realizing that the sophomore had a foot on him. That was fine. Deucalion, Aiden and Ethan were taller than him, as well.

“Jackson Whittemore?” an authoritative voice called and the sophomore stepped back. Jackson turned around and stared at the middle-aged man that was moving down the hallway. “In my office.”

Jackson frowned. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right. I’m the principle. Come on.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow and closed his locker, throwing a glare at the sophomore. “This isn’t over, _ładny chłopiec_ ,” he said, smirking at the frown on the sophomore’s face. He followed the principle to his office and sat down, gazing at the man. “They started it.”

The principle nodded slowly, sinking into his chair. “I’m going to be frank, Jackson. Your parents told me what you are. You’re not registered yet, which means you can’t murder students for the fun of it. If you can’t control your anger, I’ll have to expel you.”

“I wasn’t going to murder him,” Jackson said with a shrug. “Beat him to the point of death, sure.”

The principle groaned and rubbed his temples. “I’ve never dealt with a Fallen before. I’ve never met one and I never intended to meet one.” He dropped his hands and gazed at Jackson with tired eyes. “Do I need to worry about you racking up a body count?” His eyes went to his computer when it chimed at him. “Excuse me a moment, please.”

Jackson frowned as his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out and checked the text message, seeing that he was now a registered Fallen. Jackson locked his phone and gazed at the principle, who had paled considerably in the last few moments. “You were saying, sir?”

“My apologies, Mister Whittemore,” he said and looked at the teenager. “If you’re suddenly offered a contract, please notify me. I won’t tell the teachers about what’s going on, but you will be expected to maintain a C average.”

Jackson nodded and stood up. “I’ll need the assignments I missed while I was training. I assume you know which classes have already had those handed out?”

“Give me your schedule and I’ll check.”

Jackson handed over his schedule and walked around the office, looking at the certificates the principle had received for his outstanding performances over the years. Behind the desk was his graduation certificate from college and Jackson pitied the man. Anyone that willingly got involved with teenagers clearly wanted to retire early, either bald or with a head full of grey hair.

The man handed the schedule back. “I suggest keeping your wings hidden, as well. You’ll be the only one with black wings and I don’t want a riot on my hands,” he said and Jackson nodded. “I’ll write you a pass for your first class.”

Jackson took his schedule and the pass. He checked what class he had first and saw that it was English. He left the office and made his way down the halls. He checked the room numbers and broke into a jog, rounding a corner and spinning to the side when he nearly ran into someone. He frowned at Laura and she smiled at him, which had Jackson tilting his head.

“Aren’t you a little old to be attending here?” he asked her and she gave him a playful glare.

“I help out on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays for those struggling with English,” she said and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“I might need your help, then. I’ve missed two assignments already.”

“What room do you have English in?” Laura asked, suddenly all serious.

Jackson assumed she took her role very seriously. “Ah, 306,” he said and looked down the hallway he had turned up. “Guess I better get there, before I get detention.”

Laura smiled and nodded. “Good luck.”

Jackson continued jogging down the hallway and pulled open the door to 306. The man that was teaching the class paused and stared at him, blinking in surprise. Jackson entered the room and handed over the pass, before he found an empty chair and took it. He pulled out his English book, glancing at the chalkboard and seeing that they were studying Shakespeare.

Thanks to being late, the period ended relatively quickly. Jackson approached the teacher and asked for the assignments he missed. He needed to read _Hamlet_ and write up report on it. He accepted the sheet that had the questions on it. The next one was _Romeo and Juliette_. Jackson nodded, taking the questions for that, as well. He thanked the teacher and left the classroom.

“What’s your next class?”

Jackson jumped at Stiles’ question. The angelesque smiled at him, while Scott looked impatient. “Chemistry,” he answered, placing the questions into his bag. “Room 224.”

“Same as us,” Stiles said and pulled Jackson up the hallway. “Let me see your schedule.” Jackson raised an eyebrow, but handed it to Stiles. “Sweet, you’re in the same classes as us. We’ll help you find your way around this week. After that, you’re on your own.”

Jackson blinked, wondering why Stiles was being so nice to him. He accepted it, as it was clear he wasn’t in any classes with Danny and smiled. “Thanks.”

* * *

On Wednesday, Jackson went to the afterschool sword training class. Chris Argent looked at him, running his eyes over his form. “I’m sorry, Jackson,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “We don’t allow humans in.”

Jackson crossed his arms, his sword hovering by his hip. “That enough proof?”

Chris raised an eyebrow, but nodded and beckoned him in. “Have you had much training with it?”

“About two months’ worth,” Jackson answered as he stepped onto the grassed area. “My instinct is fine, but I need to refine my skills.”

Chris glanced at him sharply. “And here I thought you were in recovery,” he muttered and Jackson shrugged. “Are you beginner, intermediate or advanced?”

Jackson grinned, eyes flashing. “Definitely advanced,” he said, barely keeping the glee from his voice.

“After two months?”

“Trust me, Mister Argent. I’ll _decimate_ beginners and intermediates.”

Chris stopped and gazed at Jackson, taking in his form. “Marco,” he called and Jackson’s eyes lit up more when he saw the sophomore from Monday morning jogging over to them. “You’ll be with Whittemore for today.” He turned to the sophomore. “Go easy on him.”

Marco looked at Jackson and smirked. “Of course, sir,” he said and Jackson smiled.

Jackson stepped into an area where no one else was, but made sure they were in full view of everyone in the class. He kept his sword at his side, crossing his arms over his chest. He had beaten a fully grown and experienced Disgraced. A sophomore wasn’t going to beat him.

Marco’s sword was impressive, a massive claymore that had jagged edges. It required him to use both hands, but he swung it with ease, showing that he could handle it. Jackson nodded, applying most of his body weight to his toes and waiting for Marco to start the attack. The attack came and Jackson tilted his head. Marco had his sword above his head and Jackson shook his head.

His foot on Marco’s chest stopped him and he kicked the sophomore back. “Never charge with your sword above your head,” he said as the sophomore picked himself up. “It leaves you open to other attacks, especially from ranged fighters. Again.”

Marco frowned, but set his hands on the handle and charged at Jackson with his sword below his knee. Jackson caught his wrist, twisting it until Marco was forced to let go of his sword. He kicked the weapon from the sophomore’s hand and shook his head. He expected Chris to be a better mentor than this. If they were called to war tomorrow, at least half of the class would be returned in coffins.

“Never fight against gravity if you can help it,” Jackson said and Marco frowned. Sighing, Jackson released his wrist and stepped back. He took his sword into his hand. “Moving upwards is slower than letting your sword fall. Get your weapon. Let’s do this, _ładny chłopiec_.”

Marco nodded and picked up his sword. With a deep breath, he charged at Jackson, sword still down below his knee. Shaking his head, Jackson kicked the sophomore across the jaw, sending him to the ground. He didn’t need to use his weapon to beat this kid, which was starting to annoy him. He was looking for a challenge, not someone to train.

“So, you suck dick at attacking,” Jackson said as he crouched down and gazed at Marco. “Let’s see how you are defending.” He kicked the sword towards the sophomore. “Get up.”

Jackson turned his back to Marco, glancing at the rest of the class. Chris was helping Scott with his handling of his sword, which had Jackson raising an eyebrow. Two of Marco’s friends from Monday morning were watching him. Jumping on the spot, Jackson got his blood pumping. He turned around and charged at Marco, who wasn’t expecting his speed. He knocked the sophomore down before he could raise his weapon, the tip of his sword at Marco’s throat.

“Always anticipate speed,” Jackson said as he stood and back away a few feet. “I’ll do this one at half-speed. I need a challenge, man.”

Marco nodded and Jackson closed his eyes, going down to a knee. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and saw that Marco had his sword in front of him, feet shoulder-width apart. There was a fine film of sweat on the sophomore’s face and Jackson straightened his shoulders, which had Marco tightening his grip on his sword. The kid was learning, which was a good sign.

Jackson rushed him again. He took hold of Marco’s right wrist before he could twitch and placed the blade of his sword against his throat. “I just told you to anticipate speed. That was me moving as slow as I could and you’re dead, again.”

Marco sighed and his shoulders drooped. “You’re more advanced than anyone in the class. You could probably kick Mister Argent’s ass.”

Jackson tilted his head and smirked, stepping back. “Mister Argent, you want a workout?” he called over to the teacher, who stopped talking with Scott and looked at Jackson. “I need a challenge or I’m gonna kill someone.”

Chris frowned and shook his head. “A teacher cannot duel a student, Jackson.”

“Then give me someone that can test me,” Jackson said, his sword disappearing from his hand. “I kicked his ass three times without even swinging my sword.” He gestured at Marco, who hung his head. “And don’t think of it as a duel. Think of it as a demonstration. The best in your class against the one teaching.” He ignored the way the others scoffed. He knew it was his first class with them and they clearly didn’t know he didn’t idly brag.

Chris tilted his head, his halo sparking into existence for a moment. It looked like storm clouds. “All right, Jackson. If you think you’re best, why don’t you take on a senior? Hewitt, teach Whittemore some humility.”

Jackson looked at a tall, dark skinned teen that stopped sparring with another and stared at him. Jackson tilted his head and smiled. The other grinned, eyes flashing as though he just realized the class had some fresh meat that he couldn’t wait to destroy. Jackson felt the same way. He was going to enjoy this far more than he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it. Now, a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Hope you got the sleep you needed. As for the meetings... Yeah, we'll go with hopefully he'll remember that they've met. Glad you enjoyed the chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. Can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> ThaissaDSA: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much for your comment, though I have to say that it applies a lot of pressure. The comment was so sweet and wonderful, but I'm not sure if I can continue with your version of 'perfection.' Still, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hey, you. 'Divine intervention' can really mean anything. If you want to believe God is texting teenagers for contracts, I won't say otherwise. I'm glad you're enjoying the story and yes, I had to have Ethan get annoyed at losing to someone younger than him. It doesn't matter how many times you say something is beautiful, if it is, it is. And yes, he may speak some Polish...or a lot of it. I'm glad you think the phrase is charming. I honestly don't much about Deucalion, just that he was blind. I considered keeping that in, but decided against it. Thank you so much for the comment! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much for the comment. I'm glad you're enjoying it and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. Hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Notreallyme: Hello and welcome! I freaking love the way you think! I am so tempted to have that in the story. Just, Jackson getting a text message and staring it like, 'Who the f*** is Ted from accounting?!' Thank you so much for that comment. It definitely made me laugh and I hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Tpadimo: ¡Hola! Muchas gracias por ese comentario. Estoy tan feliz de que estés disfrutando la historia. Como siempre, espero que hayan disfrutado este capítulo. Y sí, estoy de acuerdo, la primera reunión con Derek fue definitivamente divertida de escribir. No puedo esperar a tener noticias tuyas de nuevo.
> 
> Blinc43: Hello again. All good. As long as you have the energy to give hearts and give a 'yes' when I say, 'Hope you enjoyed this chapter!' I'll be happy. So...I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And thank you for the hearts.
> 
> To those that left kudos, thanks a bunch! Y'all rock.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	4. Christmas Blood

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie,

* * *

Hewitt approached Jackson, his sword in his hand. The blade was platinum gold, dark blue leather around the handle and the pommel was a rose. The blade had a slight wave to it and Jackson loved it. In the hands of someone competent it could cause a lot of damage. Instead of saying that and becoming the freak of the school, Jackson met Hewitt halfway and shook his hand.

“Jackson.”

“Mason.”

Jackson nodded and stepped back, the class stopping for a moment to watch them. Mason’s wings were practically blinding in the sunlight, white that reflected gold. He could feel that Mason was more mature than Marco and he had a better understanding of his weapon. Mason waited for him to grip his sword, but Jackson was more interested in seeing if he needed his weapon, rather than just attacking with it.

In order to get the fight started, Jackson let his sword float by his hip. Mason glanced at it and nodded, deciding that was good enough. Mason’s speed was amazing. Jackson ducked a swing and tried to sweep Mason’s feet from under him. Mason easily jumped over it, floating for a moment, before charging from above. Jackson stepped to the side and grabbed Mason’s arm, forcing him onto the ground. Mason expected that, putting his leg between him and Jackson, throwing Jackson onto his back.

Jackson rolled to the side and pushed up to his feet, grinning. He still didn’t need to use his weapon, but he hadn’t been able to land an attack on Mason, either. Mason stood back, knees bent and sword parallel with the ground, his shoulders tensed and ready for Jackson’s attack. Jackson ran his eyes over Mason’s body, picking up that he was weak in his right ankle, his stance was expectant of Jackson to go low. Make them fight gravity in order to win, he figured and charged in for the attack.

Before going up, Jackson’s eyes widened and he slipped to the right. As he expected, Mason winced as his right ankle twisted. Jackson’s punch knocked him to the ground, but Mason rolled onto his feet and glared at Jackson. That was an expression he expected to receive a lot. Jackson didn’t care, as he could feel his blood pumping and excitement running through his body. Mason’s wings were still relaxed, so he was enjoying the match.

Mason’s skills were refined, but he lacked instinct. He was trying to remember all the pointers from his years of studying the sword and Jackson knew he needed to do the same thing, but for the moment, his instinct was kicking a senior’s ass. He straightened his shoulders as Mason took the same stance as before. Pursing his lips, Jackson shrugged and rushed the senior, deciding to use the sun to his advantage. He jumped up and Mason’s eyes followed him, which had him groaning as the sun blinded him.

Jackson landed on Mason, knee on his chest and foot on the elbow of his sword arm. He gripped his sword and placed it to Mason’s throat. “And you’re dead,” he said as Mason continued to blink the spots of light from his vision. “You were decent, man.”

“I’m not used to fighting those that play dirty,” Mason said as Jackson stepped back, their swords vanishing from their hands.

“Win by any means necessary. Why not use your environment to your advantage?” Jackson asked with a shrug and Mason frowned, running the words through his head.

Chris approached them and looked at Jackson. “I don’t think this class is for you, Jackson,” he said and Jackson stared at him. “You need a private mentor to help you. I won’t have the time to help you. And I don’t need others feeling inadequate around you, either.”

Jackson sighed and nodded. He should have known something like that would happen. Letting instinct rule him and show he was better than the others was probably one of the drawbacks of being a Fallen. He waved as he walked away from the class, deciding if he could get to a phonebook, he could call a mentor and have someone train him that night.

Ordering an Uber, Jackson went through his Google search of sword mentors. He frowned when someone called his name and saw Scott running over to him. “What’s up, McCall?”

Scott took a moment to catch his breath. “Try Derek Hale,” he said and Jackson frowned. “He’s been helping me, as well. He’s really good with the sword and he could probably help you, as well. Come with me.” He smiled and Jackson blinked.

Cancelling the Uber, Jackson followed Scott. They left school grounds, passed by the empty lacrosse field and went into the woods. They walked a path and Jackson frowned over his shoulder. Someone was following them, which had him rubbing the nape of his neck. He looked at Scott, who didn’t seem to feel anything. He was still walking forward, talking about how well Derek handled his sword.

Jackson placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder, ears twitching. Scott turned around and stared at him, before his eyes slid to the woodland. “Something wrong, man?” he asked and Jackson nodded.

“Someone’s watching us,” he whispered, standing in front of Scott protectively. His sword hovered by his hip. Whoever it was, they weren’t an angelesque as he couldn’t hear the feathers ruffling. “It’s a demonesque.”

“Probably a member of the Hale family, then,” Scott said with a shrug and turned around, continuing to walk. “So are you demonesque like your parents?” he asked as Jackson followed.

Jackson’s shoulders tensed at the question. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered and tried to remember if he had met Derek Hale before. He remembered meeting a Hale when he returned after his Beacon Hills contract. The Hales knew he wasn’t a demonesque, at least Talia and Laura knew.

Whoever was watching them moved when they did and stopped when Jackson did. The feeling was beginning to annoy him and he just wanted whoever it was to come out. Turning around, Jackson glared into the trees. Whoever it was had to know he could feel them, but he couldn’t see them. He scanned the trees, making sure no one was trailing them via the branches. As far as he could tell, there was no one in the woods, except him and Scott.

Growling to himself, Jackson turned and jogged up to Scott. He sighed when they finally came across the Hale manor. Scott knocked on the door and Laura answered, grinning brightly at them. Jackson rested against the hood of the black car, thankfully not feeling as though he was being watched. Jackson looked up at the sky, seeing that the clouds coming through were darker. There was going to be rain that night.

The door opened again and Jackson heard Scott talking excitedly to someone. “I think he can learn a lot from you, man,” he was saying and Jackson leveled his head, gazing at the man beside him.

Pushing off the car, Jackson approached the man and held his hand out. “Jackson,” he said and the other frowned at him, but shook his hand.

“Derek,” he said and pulled his hand back. “Scott says you’re a blade master.”

Jackson shrugged. “I use a sword and let instinct take over. I need to refine my skills, though,” he answered and Derek raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t take on just anyone,” Derek said and pushed Jackson back. “Scott, spar with him.”

Scott’s eyes widened and pressed to Derek’s side, practically making out with the man’s ear as he whispered, “He can kill me.”

Derek jerked his head away. “I’ll be here to stop it if it gets that far. Stop being scared and apply the teachings.”

Jackson crossed his arms and watched as Scott brought forward his sword. It was long, large with a curve in the center. It was the same deep red as his horns and tail, with gold leather wrapped around the handle. With enough practice, Scott could use it one-handed. For the moment, he had to hold it with two hands. Derek stood back and checked Scott’s stance, telling him where to correct.

Looking at Scott, Jackson found that he had few weaknesses. The weight of his blade was his biggest weakness, but he held it with confidence and straightened his shoulders. His footing wasn’t as secure as it should be, especially on the loose leaflitter that surrounded them. His weight was on his heels, when it should be on his toes. A sword that heavy, Scott would need an anchor with a back leg, but it seemed that Derek hadn’t gotten around to that lesson.

Scott raised his eyes when Derek gave a grunt of approval at his stance. “Where’s your sword?”

“Just come at me,” Jackson said and tightened his arms in front of his chest.

Blinking, Scott glanced back at Derek, who shrugged and nodded. Scott swallowed and rushed Jackson, sword by his shoulder. Jackson smiled and delivered a roundhouse kick to Scott’s hands, hitting the pommel of the sword that went flying from his hands and embedded in a tree. Scott froze and stared at his hands, before looking at his sword and then Jackson, who shrugged without uncrossing his arms.

Derek stepped forward, frowning. “Your instinct was to disarm instead of defend?”

“He’s disarmed, therefore I can kill him,” Jackson said, as Scott went over to his sword and tried to pull it from the tree.

Derek narrowed his eyes slightly. “So your instinct is to kill?” he asked and Jackson shrugged a shoulder. Derek’s eyes went to Jackson’s back, at the lack of wings there. “Rumor is you’re Disgraced.”

“I was raised by demonesques, Sparky,” Jackson said and forced back a grin at the confusion on Derek’s face. “It was highly likely that I would be Disgraced, if I wasn’t a demonesque.”

Derek nodded slowly and went over to the sword that Scott was still fighting with. He removed it from the tree and handed it to the young demonesque. “Let’s see if he gets lucky again. Don’t use your hands, Whittemore.”

Jackson cocked an eyebrow, but nodded and waited for Scott to get his stance correct. The moment Derek said it was correct, Jackson kicked along the ground and the earth moved under Scott’s feet. Almost in the split position, Scott groaned and fell backwards, dropping his sword. Derek frowned and checked to make sure Scott wasn’t injured and then stared at Jackson.

“You said not to use my hands,” he said defensively at the unreadable expression on Derek’s face. “You didn’t say I couldn’t use my magic.”

“Take five, McCall,” Derek said as he stood in front of Jackson. “You’ve got me curious, Whittemore.”

Jackson smirked for a moment, until he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled it out and frowned at the contract that was sent to him. Blinking, he opened it and saw that he was meant to take out the Barrington-Jones bloodline in England. Thankfully, there was only fourteen names on the list and he stepped back. He needed to complete his assignments for English, history and chemistry. He didn’t have time to take on a contract that could last days.

Groaning, Jackson locked his phone and turned his back on Derek and Scott. He was needed in England in three days, which gave him enough time to pack and see the principle the next morning. There had to be an easier way to let the principle know when he was on a contract. The contracts could come in on the weekend. The sooner he got on them, the sooner he could return to his normal life.

* * *

In Heathrow, Jackson took a moment to get his bearings. The time zones were throwing him for a loop and he checked the time. It was six in the evening and Jackson shook his head. In two days, he needed to have completed the contract. He glanced over his shoulder when he felt someone watching him. His brow furrowed when he thought he saw the black hair of Talia Hale. The woman was turned away from him, but Jackson shook his head.

Grabbing his suitcase, Jackson left the airport and slipped into a cab. He gave the name of the Knightsbridge Hotel and smothered a yawn. The driver tried asking questions and Jackson gave him a dead look, not wanting to think or speak for the foreseeable future. He just wanted to get to the hotel and collapse on his bed, where he could sleep for the next twelve hours.

The driver finally got the message when Jackson remained silent for twenty minutes, focusing on the road as it began to snow. Jackson forced his eyes to remain open, watching as the city moved by him. He was finally dropped outside the hotel and he paid with his card, knowing that he didn’t have the correct currency on him. He thanked the driver and slipped out of the cab, going into the hotel. He gave the name of his reservation and took his keycard, heading over to the elevator.

Before the doors closed, a hand stopped them and a woman got into the carriage. Jackson stared at her and a name whispered through his mind, _Jane Barrington-Jones_. She was on the list and Jackson shifted slightly, his left hand twitching, a black feather with an indigo sheen between his fingers. She didn’t feel the feather pricking her hip and she gave no indication that she heard him snap his fingers.

“ _Będę się za ciebie modlił_ ,” he murmured and she raised her head, looking away from her phone, glancing back at him. When he said nothing else, she smiled nervously and went back to phone.

Jackson stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, hearing the woman having difficulty breathing. He had no idea what the indigo sheen did, but it seemed that it worked slowly. Ignoring that for the moment, Jackson went into his room and flipped on the lights. He raised an eyebrow and turned the lights off, going to the bed and falling onto it. He could change and shower when he woke up.

\--

Knocking on his door woke him and Jackson groaned, looking at the clock on the bedside chest. It was barely five in the morning. Groaning, Jackson stood up and went to the door, looking at the officers standing there. They stared at each other for few minutes, before one cleared his throat.

“Are your parents here?”

“No,” Jackson answered and rested against the door. “They won’t be arriving until tomorrow. Something I can help you with, officer?”

The man cleared his throat again. “You were the last person to see this woman.” He held up a photo of the woman from the elevator. “Did you notice anything strange last night?”

Jackson looked at the photo and frowned, pretending to think on it. “She seemed…sort of out of breath as I was leaving the elevator. She was on her phone, so I didn’t think anything of it. She’s not missing, is she?”

The officer glanced at the woman by his side and she nodded. “No, Mister Whittemore, she’s dead.”

Jackson frowned and then smiled. “What, is this a joke you pull on tourists?” he asked and the officer shook his head. Jackson’s eyes widened and he swallowed, trying to play the role of someone that would be terrified of that news. “L-Look, she was alive when I left. I came here and I passed out.”

The woman glanced at the officer and nodded her head, indicating he go down the hallway. The officer nodded and walked off. The woman stood in front of Jackson and gazed at him with bored green eyes. “You’re Jackson Whittemore?” she asked and Jackson nodded. “All right. Thanks for your help, sir.”

Jackson blinked and closed the door. He went back to the bed and collapsed on it, wondering if the woman knew he was a Fallen. That would explain why she didn’t bother to question him further about his involvement. He couldn’t deny that being a sanctioned assassin had its perks.

\--

The indigo sheen was cyanide poisoning. Jackson discovered that from the papers, which were in a tizzy about who had murdered one of England’s prominent demonesque families. Jackson had only kept up with the news on that, because he was curious about his feather. Blue healed, yellow was a form of acid, orange was flames and indigo was cyanide. It was useful information and got Jackson curious. He always stabbed his feathers into someone. Were they just as dangerous if he cut someone with them? Something to look into on his next contract.

* * *

A week before Christmas, Jackson received another contract. He gave serious consideration to ignoring it, as it was in Japan. He had barely been home for five days when he was being sent off again. His mother watched as he packed his suitcase again and Jackson knew he would need to keep a go bag ready for when contracts came in. He would also need to renew his passport when he got back.

Getting the notification that his Uber had arrived, Jackson ran downstairs, pausing to pull on his shoes and open the door. He straightened and stepped back, seeing Talia there. She smiled warmly and stepped to the side. “Thanks. Sorry,” Jackson said as he ran out of the house, stopping and returning to grab his suitcase.

In the back of the car, Jackson glanced at the house and saw that Talia and his mother were talking. Talia glanced at him as the car pulled away and Jackson wondered how long he could keep it hidden from her. She was sharp minded and she would notice him constantly leaving, not to mention bloodlines disappearing. Checking the name of the next bloodline he was meant to wipe out, Jackson frowned. He hadn’t heard of these people, but someone was paying top dollar to have them removed.

In the last two weeks, he had barely seen Danny. Stiles had been at his house when he returned from England, only because he was dropping off the homework that Jackson had missed. The teen said nothing to him as he left, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told Jackson he knew what he was. The rumor of him being Disgraced had circulated around school, which made Jackson grateful that he was missing so much of it. He did his homework on the plane to Japan, finishing up his assignments for English, history and chemistry.

Everything was being dumped on him during the holidays. He realized that he had another history assignment coming up, which was on the Spectral Wars. Jackson figured he would have time during the winter break to get that one done. The only upside to all of this was Jackson learned how to keep his wings and halo hidden, even while he was exhausted. There hadn’t been any slip ups there, which was the only positive of the entire thing. And the money.

The money was the reason why Jackson could stay in comfort when he was abroad. The Knightsbridge Hotel had been nice, but when Jackson entered his suite at the Palace Hotel in Tokyo, he felt like royalty. He kicked the door shut and collapsed on the massive bed, closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him. He could take out the Seiko family tomorrow. For the moment, he wanted to enjoy some creature comforts and forget for a few hours that he was murdering bastard.

\--

The contract on the Seiko family wasn’t anything interesting. It was a family of six that he wiped out during a dinner with his swords. The father put up the most fight and Jackson was glad to see that someone could challenge him. There wasn’t much left in him after he saw the blood of his entire family, but he still fought like a warrior and Jackson respected that. If he saw his parents dead, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He could only assume that he would carry on with life.

His blade decapitated the father and Jackson stood back. “ _Będę się za was wszystkich modlić_ ,” he told them and left the house.

* * *

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, Jackson had finally caught up with his homework and assignments. Everything was completed and he could relax for a few hours. His parents were having prominent families and hotshot clients around for a Christmas dinner and Jackson wasn’t in the mood to deal with people. He had seen more than enough strangers in the last two weeks. He texted Danny a little, surprised by the slow replies.

The doorbell rang and Jackson frowned, sitting up. It was quarter to five. The party wasn’t starting until seven, but he slipped off his bed and went downstairs. He blinked at the Hale family, seeing that their horns and tails were out, except for the son, who kept his hidden. Jackson understood that and nodded at them when they noticed him standing on the stairs. He turned around and went back to his bedroom, closing the door.

After checking his phone and seeing that Danny hadn’t responded to him, Jackson sighed. _I’m sorry I’ve been gone for the last few days._ He sent the message and hoped that Danny would start talking to him again. Losing his best friend wasn’t something that he wanted to go through. After ten minutes, there still wasn’t a reply and Jackson growled, wings appearing behind him.

Naturally, there was a knock at his bedroom door and he sighed. “What?” he called.

“Are you dressed for dinner? Some of our guests have already arrived,” his mother’s voice floated through.

“Yeah, I’ll be down there in a few minutes,” Jackson snapped and glared at the door.

There was a moment’s hesitation, before his mother said, “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you down there.”

Jackson’s shoulders and wings drooped. He stood up and dressed in a grey suit, sitting on his bed again. _Merry Christmas_. He sent the text to Danny, praying that he would get a response. His phone remained silent for the next twenty minutes, before Jackson decided it was time to mingle with people downstairs. The doorbell had sounded a further four times.

Pulling on shoes, Jackson left his bedroom and went downstairs, finding people in the living room. He smiled politely and shook hands with firm partners of his father’s and the important heads of families his mother managed to make connections with. He hadn’t bothered to hide his wings, knowing the entire town knew he was Disgraced. It filled him with a cold pride to see how people stared at them, both in awe of seeing black wings and in fear that maybe he wasn’t just a Disgraced.

“Jackson!”

Turning around, Jackson blinked when he saw Scott and Stiles. Stiles was waving insanely, while Scott stared at Jackson’s wings. Excusing himself, Jackson made his way across the room, grateful to be around familiar faces. Scott’s eyes got wider as Jackson grew closer, mouth dropping open. Stiles’ wings were arched proudly behind him and Jackson ran his eyes over them.

“What are you doing here?” Jackson asked, trying to sound curious. He understood why Stiles would be there, as his parents always invited the Sheriff around for the party, though he was usually working it. Scott, however, had no reason to be there.

“Dad was upset that he couldn’t attend and asked if I could come here in place for him,” Stiles answered, eyes glancing up at Jackson’s wings. “Those are really impressive. And I brought Scott, so I would have someone to talk to.”

Jackson grinned and nodded. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, which had Stiles blinking at him. “I think the youngest person here is Cora Hale and she’s still older than us.”

“I’ve never seen black wings before,” Scott said, still staring at the large wings behind Jackson. “What’s your halo?”

“Black laurel,” Jackson answered and Stiles raised an eyebrow. “It’s the halo of a Disgraced.”

Stiles looked as though he wanted to argue the fact, but glanced at Scott and nodded. Jackson felt his shoulders and wings relaxing. Jackson had no idea how Stiles knew he wasn’t a Disgraced. Maybe it was his superpower as an angelesque. He knew when people were lying, which actually made Jackson feel nervous. He can look at someone and see their weaknesses, know the best way to kill them. Maybe Stiles could look at someone and know when they were lying.

As he opened his mouth to question that, a crash sounded behind him. Jackson turned around and saw one his father’s most prestigious clients having heated words with the son of the Hale family. It was seconds from a bloodbath, so Jackson approached them, one of his wings going between the pair. They blinked and stepped back, which was the best Jackson could ask for.

“Sports, politics, religion, Ghostbuster movies and horn size are not to be discussed,” Jackson stated, glaring between the pair.

“We weren’t discussing that,” the client said and shot a dirty look at both Jackson and the Hale son. “I was just asking him when he planned to have my family murdered.”

“Oh god, yeah, because _that’s_ something you talk about at a dinner party,” Jackson said, unable to believe the stupidity of the demonesque his father held in such high esteem. “Unless he made a direct threat to you or your family, let it go and mingle with others.” The man didn’t look ready to do that and Jackson’s wings sat up higher. “Or I will put you in your place,” he warned.

The man looked at the wings and swallowed. “I know you’ve got a Fallen working for you, Hale,” he said and turned his back on the pair.

“I had that,” the son said and Jackson blinked, turning to him. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

“I don’t give a shit if you could beat him with one punch. I wasn’t going to have violence in my parents’ home,” Jackson stated with a glare. “And the warning applies to you, too. I will put you in your place if you make trouble.”

The demonesque leaned in closer, an air of arrogance around him. “I’d like to see you try, Whittemore,” he challenged and Jackson’s feathers ruffled. The son saw it and chuckled. “That was cute.”

“Get into the backyard,” Jackson said through clenched teeth. He was going to put that bastard in his place. He shoved the demonesque out of the living room and into the kitchen. “You get to witness it firsthand, Sparky.”

Jackson removed his jacket, tossing it onto the breakfast counter, getting his mother’s attention. She opened her mouth, but Jackson glared at her. She huffed and nodded, figuring boys would be boys. The Hale son removed his jacket outside, hanging it over the railing. Jackson untucked his shirt and removed his tie, keeping it in his hand as he stared at the Hale son, jaw clenched. He was looking forward to kicking the shit out of someone, just to work out some frustrations of Danny not talking to him and the damn contracts.

The fact he was a Fallen in a town filled with humans, angelesques and demonesques was another reason. He had to hide who and what he was around everyone. His anger doubled and it wasn’t directed at the Hale son. It was directed at everyone that felt he was some kind of monster. Even those that thought he was only Disgraced looked at him like he would rip their throats out. Maybe if they didn’t look at him like that, he wouldn’t feel the need to.

The Hale son faced him, just in front of the pool fence, a cocky smile on his face. “You sure you want to do this, Whittemore? I’ve got six extra years on you.”

“Sounds like you’re scared, Hale,” Jackson stated coldly, wings flapping behind him.

The Hale son raised an eyebrow and his sword appeared at his left thigh. Jackson could see the broad blade, silver with black leather around the handle. The pommel curved up into a tooth, going from silver to black, like the tip was tarnished. One side of the blade was razor sharp, while the other was jagged, like the teeth of a shark. Either side of the blade could do some serious damage, but that wasn’t what had Jackson pausing. He couldn’t see a weakness in the Hale.

The stance was relaxed. He could stay there forever, waiting for Jackson to make the first move. Instinct told Jackson that he couldn’t cause harm until he was attacked first, unless there was a contract out. As he didn’t have his phone on him, Jackson was going to assume that there wasn’t a contract on the Hale son. Making the first move crossed his mind, but his body wouldn’t move.

“You proposed this challenge, Hale,” Jackson said and crossed his arms. “Time to show me what six years can do.”

The Hale gave him a shit-eating grin and gripped his sword. His stance changed slightly and Jackson was still running his eyes over the demonesque, trying to find some weakness. Maybe the weakness wasn’t a physical one. The Hale son held himself with confidence. Maybe it was a psychological one, which was far more difficult to discover. His instinct couldn’t tell him what scars were in the mind.

The charge was faster than Jackson was expecting and he spun to the right, his wings just barely missing the demonesque. His form was flawless and his technique was beautiful. Six years was definitely a lot of time to refine his skills and show them off. He would need his sword for the Hale son. He dropped his tie and straightened his shoulders, circling the Hale as his sword materialized by his right hip.

“You’re finally taking it seriously, then?” Hale asked as he rushed Jackson again, who slipped closer, smirking into the Hale’s face.

Jackson’s forehead connected with the demonesque’s nose and the Hale growled, despite the pain. He knew how to push pain aside and focus on the task at hand. Jackson was impressed and stepped back, resuming his circling of the Hale son like he was a piece of meat. He licked his lips and raised his eyes, waiting for the next attack. So far, he hadn’t needed his weapon.

He gasped and ducked as the Hale’s sword swung at him. He rolled to the side and back to his feet, hand hovering over his sword. He spun to the side, back pressing against Derek’s chest, surprised at how warm the demonesque was on his wings. The demonesque was practically burning them. Jackson’s elbow connected with the outer corner of Hale’s eye and they broke apart, Jackson hissing as he rolled his shoulders.

Smoke was coming from Hale’s torso and he looked as surprised by it. Instead, black flames streamed towards Jackson and his eyes widened. He gripped his sword and let the flames split along the blade and around him. He lowered his sword and glared at the Hale son. As far as he knew, magic wasn’t part of their duel. Hale raised an eyebrow with a smirk and Jackson growled.

“Fine,” he spat and ran his left hand along the blade. Silver flames wrapped around his sword and Jackson glanced over it to stare at Hale. “Let’s go, Sparky.”

The demonesque’s eyes widened as he looked at the flames dancing around the blade, before his eyes flitted to the wings. Jackson knew he was putting pieces together, which had him frowning. As far as he knew, nothing different had happened. They were just dueling, like a pair of egotistical kids. Jackson didn’t like being challenged and the Hale son didn’t like that Jackson had defused a situation.

Grip tightening on his sword, Hale rolled his shoulders and charged at Jackson. The sparks from their swords meeting flared around them. Jackson smirked, the heat of his flames growing. Hale growled and held his ground, which just had Jackson blinking at him. Somehow, the flames increased as they both pressed their swords together harder, trying to force the other to yield. Jackson cried out as the explosion sent them flying back. He landed with a thud and rolled a few feet, while the Hale son landed on the pool fence and stepped off gracefully.

Jackson gritted his teeth as his back burned again. Hale approached him and Jackson stood up, shaking his head to remove the fuzziness crowding it. Each twirled their swords as they circled each other. Their eyes never left the other’s, waiting for the first move. Jackson winced as his shoulders pulled back, the muscles on the back rippling. He rolled his shoulders and glared at the demonesque, knowing that his shirt was dirty from their duel. If he wore the jacket, no one would notice.

Hale straightened his shoulders and tackled Jackson, whose eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting that. He was pinned to the lawn, sword arm held above his head, hips pinned by hips and a sword to his throat. Jackson glared for a moment, before the searing pain in his shoulders started again. He hissed and the sword was removed. Jackson’s vanished from his hand and he sat up, touching the area affected. He gritted his teeth and looked at his hand, blinking when he saw blood on his fingers.

Standing behind him, Hale said, “I think your wings are about to come through.”

Jackson stood up, gritting his teeth at the movement to his shoulders. He managed to get up the stairs to the back deck and through the back door. His mother stared at him as he collapsed, resting on a stool at the breakfast counter. Hale followed him in and explained his wings. His mother blinked and Stiles stepped past her, helping Jackson to his feet. Unable to curb it, Jackson screamed as he felt something rip on his back. He could feel the blood pouring from the wounds.

“You need to get up to your room, sweetheart,” his mother whispered.

Jackson stumbled again, feet slipping in the blood that was pooling around him. He fell to his hands and knees, head dropping as he tried not to breathe or think. He could feel something writhing in his back and figured that was his wings. In the distance, he could hear his mother telling the guests that he dinner party was canceled and trying to get everyone out of the house.

Stiles wiped his face, gazing into his eyes. “Don’t try to stop it, man. It’ll be worse if you do that.”

“You…” Jackson gritted his teeth, not caring that he was crying in front of Stiles Stilinski. As an angelesque, Stiles would know the pain. “…touch…them…can’t…”

“Where’s his room?” the Hale son asked as he stood in front of Jackson. “I’ll carry him up there.”

A scream tore from Jackson’s mouth as his wings ripped through the final layer of muscle and his shirt, spraying the kitchen with his blood. Jackson collapsed, breathing heavily, but knew he was able to keep his halo hidden. He had no idea how he managed that.

David came into the kitchen, grabbing Stiles and Derek by the arms. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take it from here.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Stiles whispered as he left the kitchen.

Jackson tried to calm his breathing, as it was forcing undue pain to radiate from his shoulders. The idea of turning his neck and making his shoulders move just wasn’t going to happen. He could smell his blood surrounding him and he shivered. The kitchen floor was cold and he was regretting not making it to his bedroom, where he could hopefully pass out on his bed.

“Doctor Deaton will be here soon, Jackson,” his mother said as she stood in the entrance to the kitchen. She didn’t look at her son. Her eyes were on the blood splatter and how long it was going to take to clean.

Jackson tried to remember everything that Deucalion told him about his wings. He knew no one could touch them, as they would shred them. He assumed his wings had that effect on everything they came into contact with. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t make it to his bedroom. He didn’t want to destroy his bed. Not to mention, getting blood out of carpet was almost impossible.

“Cool,” Jackson breathed and shivered again, eyes fluttering as he battled to remain conscious or alive. He wasn’t sure which would win. “I–I’mma…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it. A word to the sponsors:
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you again for the hearts and the response. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! As for the Stiles remark... Maybe. Quite possibly. High chances.
> 
> Guest1701: Yeah, think of it like that. There's a database with all the names of Fallens in it. Could you imagine Danny hacking that? Oooh, idea! Thanks for the comment and hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> GuestSissy: Hello and welcome! I try not to use the inbox, as it artificially inflates my comments for a story. I also love the way you think. An NHL AU... Thank you so much for the comment and I hope this was more interaction between them!
> 
> ThaissaDSA: Aww, thank you! And thank you for the hearts! (The same ones I use in my texts, as well!) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again.
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello! Technically, I'm Catholic. Religion is subjective. Now, if I tell you that Deucalion shows up again, I might be giving things away. And I just did it, anyway. As for the Danny thing...it'll make sense in a few chapters. I promise. I did consider having Danny pull away, but I just couldn't do that. Danny was too awesome for that. And Jackson needs some humanity in his life. As for the duel with Chris, I didn't even think about that! I'm so sorry to say that there likely won't be any duels between Jackson and Chris. Thanks for the comment and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: You're welcome! Yes, there is an explanation given, but it's a few chapters off. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Tpadimo: ¡Hola querida! Muchas gracias por el comentario. Espero que el duelo (o plural ya que eran dos) te haya hecho feliz. ¡También espero que hayas disfrutado de este capítulo y no puedo esperar a tener noticias tuyas de nuevo!
> 
> To those that left kudos, thanks a bunch! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	5. Dilemma and Wings

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Back home, Derek went straight to the massive library in the house. There was something he needed to check. Actually, there were a few things he needed to check. What the demonesque, Harry Heilman had said at the party was something he needed to check on. As far as he knew, his family didn’t have a Fallen working for them. Why would anyone think that?

He had heard about the deaths of the demonesque families. Yes, his family had done a few deals with them and sometimes those deals went astray and they pulled out. That wasn’t any reason to kill them. Both families had made threats against the other, neither wanting to be seen as weak. Derek had made a particularly nasty threat against the Ling family in China that included their ancestors. It wasn’t his finest moment as lieutenant for his family, but after the fire…

Derek shook his head and sighed. His uncle was still recovering, still badly burned. He had lost movement in most of his body, barely able to blink his eyes most days. His baby sister, Cora, had been lucky that night. Peter and Cora had gone out to see a movie. While Peter made a phone call, someone had set the car on fire. Cora had already gotten out and was meeting with a friend that was seeing the same movie. In all honesty, Peter was lucky to get out alive, as well.

Not really alive, but breathing… Well, not really breathing, either. Peter was pretty much fucked and he was slowly coming back to how he was. It had been a year since the car fire. Cora was still scared to go anywhere near the cinema and her family didn’t blame her. They all had ideas on who was responsible for the fire. The Barrington-Jones family felt that the Hale family had robbed them of millions of pounds. The Ling family felt that the Hales were trying to muscle in on their territory. The Seiko family, somehow, got it into their heads that Derek had defiled their daughter.

The Andino family of Greece were the only ones that didn’t have a family member in the country around the time of the fire. They might have had a representative in the area, though. Still, in their line of work, they often made enemies. Three of the four bloodlines that might have been responsible for the fire were killed. It was definitely the work of a Fallen. All deaths had been relatively quick, most within a day.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor of the library, Derek moved through the shelves. His mind was on two deaths that happened two months ago. One had been someone that was close to him. She was raped and murdered. The second had been her mate that was… Derek had no idea how to describe what happened to Raymond Garland. He looked as though someone had liquified his insides. It was the only time Sheriff Stilinski vomited when he saw a body. They didn’t need a bag so much as a bucket for Raymond’s remains.

That night, around the dinner table at the Whittemores, he and his family were told that Jackson had been in a horrific accident and was over east, recovering. Derek was surprised to see black wings. He was even more surprised when Jackson asked who he was, like they had never met. They had practically grown up together. Their families were close, but Jackson never really spent time around him. He preferred his own friends. Derek respected that. There was six years between them. What would they have in common?

Still, Jackson didn’t look like someone in recovery. He was practically running out the door, passport in hand and suitcase with him. Derek assumed he was a Disgraced, seeing the black wings. Jackson was an angelesque raised by demonesques. Being a Disgraced was bound to happen. A Disgraced couldn’t turn their swords in the flaming swords of justice, though. Even if Jackson didn’t know to control it and prevent it from literally exploding in his face. That was a trick only known to Fallens. Derek knew; had tried it himself several times. The flames never stuck to the sword.

He had only tried it, because there was a picture in a book he saw when he was younger. The angel stood in front of a desolate landscape, sword aflame and large, black wings behind them. It was fear inducing or awe inspiring. An angelesque that felt no fear and was a messenger and deliverer of justice. Derek, when he was younger, had wanted to meet one so badly, just to ask questions. Of course, he never met anyone with black wings. In fact, he didn’t know that many angelesques, as his family mostly dealt with the politics of the world.

His mind wandered to the white shirt that was stained with red. He couldn’t imagine the pain that came from the wings tearing through the back. The amount of blood that had sprayed from the wounds was like a fountain, covering everything in the kitchen. Even Derek had a fine sheen of blood on him. The scream would haunt his nightmares.

Finding the book, Derek flipped through the pages and found the one that had the picture of the angel. It was a representation of what angels were like, before they became angelesques. Demons were far more grotesque before they evolved into demonesques. Staring at the picture, Derek frowned when he saw that the angel had a halo. That was something he had missed when he was younger, mostly because it blended with the desolate background. A crown of thorns floated above the head. The signature of Fallens.

_“I let instinct take over.”_ Jackson’s instinct was to kill, to find weaknesses and exploit them. He knew what Scott’s weakness was and it was his grip on the sword. His magic was unreal, though. He had never seen someone manipulate earth so easily, especially in that manner. Using an earth based spell required the user to have a steady mind, to be as strong as the element they were trying to use.

If Jackson hadn’t been distracted by his wings trying to come through, he could have won the duel. Derek wanted to see what Jackson was like when he took a fight seriously. Something told him that Jackson would be terrifying to fight, an awesome force of power that would destroy him. That was something Derek wanted to witness. He wanted to see how powerful Jackson could be, he didn’t want him holding back anything. He doubted he would survive it, but he would happily die knowing just what kind of damage a Fallen could produce.

Glancing over the words written, Derek sighed softly and sat down in a chair. ‘Fallens are friends to no one. They work alone, wander alone and murder alone. Befriending one is not advised. Picking one as a potential mate is not advised. Avoid at all times. They will not see friend or foe, only a contract that must be completed. They feel no fear, no remorse.’ Not much had changed in the last few thousand years for Fallens. Instead of being worshipped, they were feared. Instead of proudly showing their wings and halos, they hid out of fear of being killed.

“You’re covered in his blood,” Talia said as she rested against the railing, gazing at Derek. “What happened?”

“His wings manifested,” Derek answered and winced, seeing the blood spraying from the black feathers. Sighing, he closed the book and stared at his mother. “Do we have a Fallen working for us?”

“No. Divine intervention supplies them with their contracts, unless you know who they are.” Talia sat in the chair beside Derek, taking his blood covered hand. “Why would you think that?”

“Heilman thinks we’re sending a Fallen to kill off our competition.” Derek rubbed his eyes and dropped his hand. “I’m not against it. Having one working for us would make the dirty work a lot easier.”

“But?” Talia pried gently, squeezing Derek’s hand.

“I think he’s only fourteen,” Derek finished and glanced at his mother. “I’m almost fully certain that Jackson is a Fallen.”

“Because he has black wings? You heard the same thing I did. He’s Disgraced.” Talia smiled and patted Derek’s hand. “Besides, Fallens don’t present at fourteen. Their change doesn’t happen until they’re eighteen.”

“He created a flaming sword of justice,” Derek said and Talia frowned at him. “Not even a Disgraced can create a flaming sword. His sword split my flames, as well. I don’t think he realized what he was doing.”

Talia’s frown remained in place. “That could explain why he was abroad whenever a bloodline was removed. I think his contracts are from us.”

Derek nodded and tilted his head back. “I’ve put the contracts through, knowing they would reach a Fallen, eventually. I didn’t expect Jackson to accept them. He’s expensive.”

Talia’s eyes softened as she studied her son. “Why do you care? Even if Jackson is a Fallen, it doesn’t affect us in any way. Why are you suddenly so curious about him?”

Derek glanced at his mother quickly. “I’ve always been curious about Fallens. Now, we basically have one on the payroll. I’m curious about them.”

Talia raised an eyebrow. “You also fought him. How was he, in battle?”

Derek shrugged. “Fine. He needs a lot of work, but he wasn’t terrible. His magic is… _really_ good. His grip on his sword doesn’t need any work. His footwork is stable, but he relies too much on his heels, instead of keeping his weight on his toes, considering his weapon. He’s light and fast. He has no issue using every part of his body to his advantage.” He rubbed his nose, which he was certain would break from the headbutt it received.

Talia watched him prattle on, a soft smile curving her lips. It wasn’t often that Derek found something to speak so passionately about. “And you noticed only that in the few minutes you fought for?”

“I look at Scott and I see everything wrong with his stance, his form, his grip and even his magic. I look at Jackson and see nothing wrong with his stance, grip or magic. His form needs a little work.” Derek glanced down at the book in his lap. “I also think about the fact he’s killed more people than me and he isn’t bothered by that.”

Derek realized that was the complete truth. Jackson still acted like a teenager, feeling like he knew everything, especially when it came to dueling someone. As he only had other teenagers to work against, Derek could understand where his ego came from. Aside from that, it was almost like the thought of being a Fallen never crossed his mind. The few times Derek saw him around town, he always had his wings and halo hidden. It was probably a complete accident that he and his family had seen Jackson’s wings that night, when he was meant to be recovering over east.

“If he is Fallen or even just Disgraced, he’ll feel nothing for the lives he’s taken,” Talia said softly. “I think you like him, Derek.”

Derek shook his head. “I admire and fear him, Mom. I can’t like someone that has no issue with murder.”

Talia nodded slowly, squeezing Derek’s hand. “You don’t either, Derek.”

“I’ve never killed children,” Derek snapped with a glare. Why was she pushing that so much?

“We’re all someone’s child, sweetie,” Talia said as she stood up. “Don’t judge him too harshly because he received the grace of an angel. And don’t stay up too late. We’re visiting your uncle tomorrow.”

Derek looked up and nodded, sinking into the chair. He sighed and shook his head, returning the book to the shelf. Getting involved, romantically, with a Fallen was a bad idea. Getting involved with one in a professional sense wouldn’t be bad. Derek smirked as he left the library and went to the bathroom, showering, frowning at the amount of blood that was on him. That was horrible. After visiting with Peter in the hospital tomorrow, maybe he could bring up the idea of keeping a Fallen on staff.

* * *

When Jackson opened his eyes, he was still in the kitchen. His mouth was dry and his throat tender. He groaned and moved to his knees, frowning as he was sticking to the floor. His eyes widened when he saw the blood and turned his eyes to take in the blood that was all over the room. There was a definite streak from behind him, up to the ceiling. There was a fine film of it everywhere else and a dried puddle beneath him.

“You’re awake,” Alan said as he stood in the entrance to the kitchen. “It was touch and go for a bit there, but glad to see that you pulled through. How are your shoulders and back?”

“Ah…” Jackson frowned and looked over his shoulder, eyes widening at the glossy black feathers that greeted him. “Fuck, my wings came out, didn’t they?” He didn’t bother to look at Alan to know it was true. He rolled his shoulders. There was a mild stabbing pain, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t ignore. “Pain is about a two.”

“I wasn’t sure if the potion would work on a Fallen. Your grace is different from angelesques, so…” Alan stepped into the kitchen, pulling on metal gloves. “In a week, you should be able to pull your wings back into your body. Not the best way to spend Christmas, huh?”

“In pain, covered in my own blood? It’s better than being out on a contract. At least I have my parents here.” Jackson looked over his shoulder when he heard something spark. His eyes widened when he saw sparks on his wings where Alan was touching them. “So they are dangerous?”

“Oh my gosh, incredibly,” Alan said with a grin. “These can eviscerate a person or cut them clean in half. Do you mind if I test your joints?” Jackson shook his head, watching as Alan grabbed his wing and stretched it out. “Your joints are very strong, very well developed, considering how young you are.”

“What do you mean?” Jackson asked with a frown as Alan moved to his other wing.

“Presenting this young is normal, puberty and all. But having your wings manifest? Unless you found a mate, your wings shouldn’t manifest for another two years.”

“ _What_?!” Jackson glared and his wings flapped. “I’m two years early?” he demanded and stood up, swaying as the blood rushed upwards to his head and his shoulders. He gritted his teeth as the gashes on his back throbbed.

“Yes,” Alan said calmly. “I recommend taking it easy for the next few days. I’ll be around to help with the oiling. If your wings aren’t groomed – oiled – you can do irreversible damage to them.”

Jackson nodded and stumbled down to the bathroom. He turned around and saw that his bottom feathers had left deep grooves in the tiles and sighed. His parents were going to kill him for that. He entered the bathroom and stripped out of his ruined suit pants and shirt, shoes and socks. He stepped under the warm spray and moaned quietly, closing his eyes. He washed his body was best as he could, being extra gentle around his back.

Once he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and his eyes widened when he caught his reflection in the mirror. The blood loss had made him paler than he remembered being or it could be the black wings making him look pale. He carefully wrapped a towel around his hips and left the bathroom, keeping his wings up higher, as he didn’t want to cause more damage to the house.

In his bedroom, he stared at his body in the full length mirror. His wings definitely look too big for his small frame and hoped he would get taller and fill out a little more. He looked like a child playing with their parent’s wings, wanting to be a big boy. He shook his head and grabbed underwear and jeans. He wasn’t about to ruin any of his shirts because of his wings. Pausing, he went back to the mirror and turned to the side. His jaw dropped when he saw the jagged gash on his back, staring on his shoulder-blade and stopping just before his hips.

Going to his laptop, he opened it and searched to see if wing manifestation left scars. His eyes widened when he saw pictures of the scars left from the wings coming through. “Goddamn,” he whispered and shook his head. He looked over his shoulder when there was a knock at his door. He closed his laptop and opened the door, seeing his mother there. “I’m fine,” he said.

“I just wanted to make sure. A friend has come to visit you. The young man from last night,” she said with a smile and Jackson frowned, following her down the stairs.

Stiles was standing in front foyer, looking nervous. His eyes lit up when he saw Jackson. “It’s so good to see you alive, man,” he said with a grin. “I was terrified that I would find out you were dead, after the hell you went through. It happens, you know. Angelesques…even Disgraced have a habit of dying when their wings manifest.”

His mother went through to the kitchen and Jackson heard a squeak as she remembered the mess he left behind. He turned his eyes back to Stiles. “How do you know?”

“About angelesques dying?”

“About me.”

“I’m an angelesque lie detector. I knew you were lying about being Disgraced and the only other angelesque with black wings is Fallens.” Stiles shrugged and looked at Jackson’s wings. “Are they as dangerous as the books say? Can they really cut someone in half?”

“They could,” Jackson answered. “Just dragging over the floor, they made deep grooves in the tiles.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, before a grin spread over his face. “Sorry. I know it’s terrible for you, because no one can get close to help you, if you’re in trouble, but this is so cool! I never thought I would meet a Fallen. I mean, I always hoped I’d never meet one, because it would have a contract on me. But this is so awesome!” His halo came into existence and Jackson stared at it. White rose petals floated around in a circle and Stiles looked up. “My Mom’s favorite flower was the white rose.”

Jackson just blinked at Stiles, especially when the angelesque began circling him, gazing at his wings like he didn’t own a set or like he didn’t just mention his deceased mother. Jackson would assume he wanted a distraction from that and pulled his wings back to sit higher on his back. Stiles didn’t own a set of fully formed wings, but that was coming and he wouldn’t want them, either. Angelesques didn’t need to worry about their wings destroying everything they touched, which was probably why Fallens could retract their wings.

Stiles’ halo grew brighter, becoming almost blinding and Jackson squinted. Stiles seemed to realized what was happening and grinned apologetically. “Sorry. I forget that when I get excited it gets bright.” He leaned forward, staring into Jackson’s eyes, who blinked and stepped back. “You look a little pale. I’m not sure if it’s from the blood loss or because your wings are so freaking dark it makes you appear pale.’ He tilted his head.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, realizing that Stiles had said the same thing he was thinking. “Yeah, same,” he said and Stiles grinned. “Why are you here at Christmas? You could’ve just called.”

“I was on my way over to Scott’s place and thought I would drop by, just to see how you were. I already told him I was stopping here, because your wings manifested. His mom also wanted to know if you were okay. She’s a nurse, in case you forgot.” Stiles straightened and crossed his arms, regarding Jackson seriously. “I’ve never read about wings manifesting this early.”

“Fallens don’t present as early as me, either,” Jackson said with a shrug. He wasn’t going to think about what Alan said. It was impossible for him to have found a mate at such a young age.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Stiles murmured with a frown. He blinked as his phone chimed and he checked the message. “Damn. I should probably head over to Scott’s. Take it easy, Jackson.” He went to the door and paused a moment. “Um…if you need help oiling your wings, I can…help. If you want, of course.”

“Doc Deaton has already offered that. I think it’ll be less weird having a doctor fondle my g-spot,” Jackson said and laughed when Stiles blushed. “Have a good Christmas, man.” He went to close the door and paused. “Oh,” he added and Stiles stopped, turning back to him. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

Stiles grinned and nodded, waving as he left. Jackson closed the door and glared over his shoulder at his wing. He turned around and entered the kitchen, freezing. It really looked like a murder scene in there and he could see his mother trying to figure out where to start.

“Mom, I think at this point, it would just be easier to move and let someone else deal with…this.” Jackson waved his hands at the blood spray. His mother stared at him. “I’ll pay for professional cleaners,” he said and lowered his eyes. “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting my wings to come through last night.”

“ _No one_ was, Jackson,” his mother stated and began scrubbing the counters. “You’re two years early. You’re four years early with presenting as a Fallen… You were meant to spend a year in Vermont and you’re back after three months.”

“My contracts started sooner than they should, too.” Jackson pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and checked his messages. He still hadn’t received a reply from Danny. That was starting to sting a lot more than he was willing to admit.

His mother looked up from rinsing the sponge she was using. “You’ve been really busy with those. Is there a reason why you’re receiving so many?”

Jackson shook his head and shrugged. “I’m the youngest registered Fallen. The others are ancient and probably slowing down.” He frowned at his phone. “Do you know the Ling family from China, or the Barrington-Jones family of England or the Seiko family of Japan?” he asked and looked at his mother.

“Your father had some dealings with the Barrington-Jones family a few years ago, thanks to his firm in England. Aside from that, I only know about them because they made…the…news…” She trailed off and stared at Jackson. “That was you?”

“I got their contracts,” he answered and blinked. He wasn’t sure how his mother was going to react to him taking out three prominent families in three countries. “Do you know if they were associated with anyone else in Beacon Hills?”

“The Hale family had a lot of dealings with them,” his mother said. She faced Jackson and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Your wings manifested after your duel with Derek. Did he do anything to you?”

“You mean aside from challenge me and give me a decent workout, before the pain became unbearable?” he asked and she nodded. “Mom, I’m _fourteen_! I don’t think he’s that much of a creeper.” Jackson shuddered at the thought of anyone older than him finding him sexually appealing. “Now, if I was sixteen…” He trailed off and smirked at the ideas that flashed through his mind.

“Oh, Jackson, get those thoughts out of your head.” His mother shook her head and went back to cleaning up the counters. “I think we’ll order breakfast from McDonald’s.”

Jackson wrinkled his nose in protest. He went to the fridge and grabbed a bowl of fruit salad. “I’m good. I can think of a hundred other ways I’d rather ruin my figure.”

“You’re still young, sweetheart. I don’t think you need to worry about that too much,” his mother said with a smile. “Besides, the amount of sugar just in fruit?”

“It’s still better for me than processed sugarcane,” Jackson said defiantly, wings arching behind him proudly, as though he just won some great battle.

His mother smiled. “You certainly have the pride of a Fallen.”

Jackson frowned as he studied her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was disappointed, proud, fearful, happy or sad about that fact. She had a strange expression on her face, which disappeared when she blinked and cleaned the coffee maker. Lowering his eyes, Jackson stared at the fruit. Maybe it was a bad thing, being a Fallen.

* * *

The winter break made having his wings out much easier. He didn’t need to be around anyone, except when Stiles and Scott visited. Stiles hadn’t told Scott that Jackson was an actual Fallen and Scott still marveled at Jackson’s wings, like Stiles’ wings weren’t even present. Jackson couldn’t sit down on anything or his wings would shred the upholstery. His parents had purchased coverings for everything. Unfortunately, as it was an online purchase and it was still the holiday season, they were taking forever to arrive.

The carpet in his room was destroyed, as keeping his wings up was a strain on his shoulders. His bedcovers and mattress were practically tatters. The wooden bedframe looked as though someone had gone at it with an ax. He spent all of his days shirtless, which made flying worse for him. That was the only outlet he had, feeling the wind through his real feathers was far more tickling than his ethereal ones, was cut short because of the chill on his naked torso.

Alan had come around five days after his wings were released, which Jackson was grateful for. He could tell the feathers were drying out. The topmost feathers weren’t sitting flat against the arch, looking fluffy and ragged. Having someone press his glands to release the oil was an experience Jackson wasn’t sure he liked. Even though he knew what Alan was there to do and had given permission for it, he still felt a rage fill him that someone would dare touch his wings like that, would force him to endure that pleasure.

The oiling only took a few seconds on each wing. Alan had left him alone after that, especially as Jackson’s sword appeared by his thigh. Going to his bathroom, Jackson turned on the cold water in the shower and stepped in, hoping that would take care of his erection. All that happened was the water rushed over his wings and he was reminded that it had felt good, so he took care of it the old fashioned way.

Once clean, Jackson dried and pulled on jeans. He paced the length of his bedroom, hearing material tearing and realized that his wings were resting. He sighed and shook his head, trying to think of anyone that could help him. There had to be a way for Fallens to keep their wings hidden at all times. He couldn’t go through the releasing again. He didn’t want to.

Going downstairs, Jackson found his parents in the living room. They turned to him, his father smiling as he saw how shiny Jackson’s wings were. “Is there any information about Fallens and their wings?” he asked.

“Have you tried the internet?” his mother asked.

That was the first thing Jackson tried. The only information he could find was that Fallens could retract their wings to keep their body count down. “Yeah. Nothing.”

“What did you want to know?” his father asked as he sat up, muting the TV.

“If there’s a way to never release them again.” It had cost him a small fortune to get professional cleaners in for the blood of his wings manifesting. They did a brilliant job, though. There was no evidence of blood in the kitchen.

“No, there isn’t. If you retract them, you need to release them,” his father said with a frown. “I’m sorry, Jackson. There’s no way around it. Angelesques can have their real wings exist on a different plane, but Fallens can’t. You will _need_ to release them.”

Jackson growled and spun around, his wings catching the arm of the sofa, cutting off chunks of material and foam. He stormed out of the house through the backdoor and jumped up, letting his wings flap and take him somewhere to think. He ended up in the preserve, landing on a branch. His wings kept him balanced as he paced the length of it, thinking on his options.

One, he could retract his wings and never release them, which would kill him slowly and painfully. Two, he could release them every few months, coating whatever room he was in with blood and destroying everything within it. Neither of those options sounded good. Neither of them worked for him. The last thing he needed was being out on a contract and having to release his wings. If it was anything like their first manifestation, he would be vulnerable until his body recovered from the pain. Not to mention, he would be out of work for a week, while his body healed enough for him to retract the wings.

So caught up in his little dilemma that Jackson didn’t even realize someone was watching him, until he heard, “Are you all right?”

Spinning to his right, his wing cut through the branch he was on and he floated down to the ground. Cora tilted her head at him and Jackson sighed. Because of course someone would see his wings cause damage and realize he wasn’t a Disgraced. He was in the middle of the preserve, far from the Hale manor, as he didn’t want anyone disturbing him. Instead, he was found.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jackson answered and crossed his arms over his chest.

Cora’s eyes moved from Jackson to the branch he sawed through like butter. “You sure? You probably shouldn’t be out in this weather without at least a shirt.”

“I know,” Jackson said. There were fashions for angelesques that had manifested wings, but they wouldn’t work for him. He would need help putting them on around his wings, which no one could do and his wings would probably destroy the material in seconds.

His mind was so wrapped up in what to do about his wings that he didn’t notice the cold, until Cora brought him out of his thoughts. Now that she had mentioned it, he was shivering and realized that he had forgotten shoes, as well. Basically, he had acted like an idiotic teenager, running off without a thought of personal protection and Jackson was feeling like a moron as Cora watched him.

“I think you should head home before you die,” she said with a gentle smile.

Jackson nodded and jumped up, wings flapping strongly against the cold wind. The chill didn’t affect them as badly as it did before. All the moisture in the air seemed to slide right off and he figured that was the oiling doing its job. He returned home, realizing that he hadn’t come to any conclusion. The only thing he could do was release his wings whenever they needed it. He didn’t know how often they needed that, but he was certain he would find out.

\--

Four days later, the pain had finally disappeared from his back. He inhaled shakily and wondered how painful it would be to retract his wings. In front of the mirror, he stared at the wings looming behind him, reflecting the colors of the rainbow as the light danced over them. He blinked and got the sudden revelation that he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know how to retract his wings.

Staring at his reflection, Jackson crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. He started school in three days and his parents were waiting for him to retract his wings. Honestly, he was too. The amount of damage he had caused to the house was immense. The sofa was being replaced, as were the floorboards and tiles. His entire bedroom had to be redone, which meant he was spending the foreseeable future in the guest room.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, he thought about pulling the wings back in. His eyes widened as felt the wings slide back in through the healing the gashes they had created. After a few moments, he could feel them settling under the muscles and dropped his arms. That had been far easier than he thought it would be. Rolling his shoulders, Jackson frowned as he felt the healing wounds pull slightly, but he couldn’t feel the wings moving once they settled.

Glancing at his reflection, he saw his ethereal wings were still showing. He tilted his head and they vanished, which had him smiling. He turned from the mirror and finally dressed fully for the first time in over a week. He never thought it would feel so good to wear clothes.

* * *

At school, Jackson found Danny talking with members of the lacrosse team. Getting his books for his classes, Jackson kept glancing at him, hoping to catch his eye. By the way others kept glancing at him, Jackson assumed that the news of his wings manifesting had somehow spread around the town. As far as he knew, no one saw it happen, but maybe everyone knew what a screaming angelesque meant or maybe it was the way his parents ushered everyone out.

Someone stood beside his locker and Jackson glanced at them, frowning when he saw Marco there. “Something I can help you with, _ładny chłopiec_?” he asked, closing his locker and turning to face the sophomore.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you,” Marco said with a lazy grin. “Your pointers helped me a lot. I’ve also gotten a lot better with my sword. I was wondering if you would be in class on Wednesday. I’d like to show you my improvements and if you could give me anymore pointers.”

Jackson blinked at him, before he looked around the broader teen. Danny was still in conversation with the others. He glanced at Marco and shrugged. “Sure. I doubt it’ll be that much of an improvement, given we battled only a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve been practicing every day,” Marco said, a proud tilt to his voice. “I’m nowhere near as good as you, but I’m getting there.”

Jackson’s brow furrowed for a moment, before he smiled at Marco. “That’s all you can do, man. As they say, practice makes perfect.” He glanced up as the bell rang. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

Heading to history, Jackson handed in his paper on the Spectral Wars, even though it was due the week before the winter break. His teacher thanked him and Jackson took his seat, pulling out his books. His mind was still on Marco and his words. He hadn’t really done much with the sophomore, except beat him down and show where he was weak. He dropped his eyes to the page he was on, seeing that it was about the second World War, which coincided with the sixteenth Spectral War. While the humans fought their war, trying to get angelesques and demonesques on their side, the spectrals were fighting their own private war.

Raising his eyes, Jackson jumped as his phone chimed. The teacher paused and looked at him. Jackson gave a tight smile and opened the message, frowning at the contract. He sighed and packed away his books, grabbing his bag. He had a contract in Greece. The teacher tried calling out to him, but Jackson ignored the man and made his way to the principal’s office.

Taking a seat in the front office, Jackson waited for the principal to finish whatever he was doing. He gazed down at the text message, seeing that there was illegitimate offspring with this one. He closed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake, locking his phone. Opening his eyes, he stared at the woman that was typing away on a computer. Somehow, it was getting easier to take lives of people that had done nothing to him. He assumed that’s what it meant to be Fallen. _The angels of old – messengers and deliverers of justice._ What justice?

Jackson knew he was just a tool, being used to take care of someone else’s enemies. He never questioned what these people had done to deserve the deaths. He didn’t want to know. Why should he care if someone was taking out these families, just to extend their reach a little more? If they had done something truly terrible, maybe he would care. That was the problem. He didn’t care what anyone had done. The idea of killing, seeing the blood on his swords… It pleased him.

“Mister Whittemore,” the principal said and Jackson blinked at him.

Standing, Jackson followed the man into his office, finally seeing his name. Principal Thomas. The moment the door closed, Jackson turned to him. “I’ve got a contract. I’ll be leaving tonight and should be back before the week is out,” he said and the man faltered in his movement back to his desk.

“School just started today,” Thomas said as he sat down.

Jackson remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know. But Stilinski can drop my homework off for me and I doubt we’re going to receive any assignments during the first week back. I can do the required reading and get myself up-to-date with classes. This isn’t the first contract I’ve received while in school.”

“I know. It also isn’t the first one you’ve received within your first week back, either. There are five other registered Fallens.” Thomas leaned on his desk, gazing at Jackson. “Why are you receiving so many contracts?”

“I’m the youngest,” Jackson answered with a shrug. He mentally frowned as he found that he felt relaxed around the principal. The man knew what he was and he didn’t need to hide anything from him. “The others are probably near retirement age. I’m the first choice. I’m sure I can reject the contract, but that would just ruin my reputation.” His lips tugged up in a half-grin, which had the principal straightening in his chair.

Thomas cleared his throat and nodded, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to keep Jackson in school. “I’ll make sure your homework is delivered to your house. Be sure to do the reading and if you can, speak with someone in your classes, just in case you might miss something, like an upcoming test.”

Jackson nodded and left the office, ordering a ticket for Athens. He knocked shoulders with a kid and glared at them. There wasn’t a hint of fear in the eyes of the kid that he was trying to rip apart in his mind. He was used to others looking at him like he could eviscerate them with a glance, just because he had black wings.

“What’s the matter, Disgraced?” the kid asked with a smirk and Jackson blinked at him. “Can’t handle a little shoulder knocking?”

Jackson frowned and ran his eyes over the kid. He had brown hair, light blue eyes and was dressed reasonably well. He wasn’t in designer brands like Jackson, but he looked good in what he wore. “Do I know you?” he asked, barely keeping the sneer from his face, but not from his words.

The kid’s smirk stayed in place, the camera around his neck swinging as he straightened his shoulders. “No, but you wish you did.”

Jackson’s eyebrows went up as the kid turned around, his dark blue tail curling around his leg and walked away. _What the fuck was that?_ Shaking his head, Jackson pushed that encounter to the back of his mind. He had a plane to catch in a couple of hours and a bloodline to wipe out. High school drama could wait until he returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it. Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Yeah, sure. Just ruin the cliffhanger by guessing that the main character survives! Thanks for the comment. Jackson calls Derek 'Sparky' in an almost ironic way. Like he's the spark in a dead battery kind of thing. I don't know why, he just does. I've used it before in stories for these two and it just stuck. As for Derek's horns... You'll have to wait for that. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Oh yes, all the spoilers in the fact that Deucalion shows up again! I actually liked the relationship that Jackson had with him in that mentor way and figured Jackson would try to keep in contact with him. As for the comment about the middle-aged men...it doesn't help that they're interesting and stuff. And I promise, next chapter is when Danny and Jackson make up. It's awesome! Thanks for your comment! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and hope school is going well!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! Hope you enjoyed this one as well.
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Thanks for the comment. I hope this answered some of the questions you had. I can't have explanations coming out in one chapter or that would be boring. Yes, more sparring with Derek and Jackson is coming. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> To those that left kudos, thanks a bunch! Y'all rock.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	6. Mentors and Grace

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Returning to school after the Greece massacre, Jackson felt drained. He collapsed into his chair, having returned that morning. He didn’t have the energy to keep his wings and halo hidden, so he let his wings out. He heard the way others gasped as he entered English on Friday, staring at his wings. He had wanted to stay home and sleep, but his parents were determined to make him learn a lesson from this. If he couldn’t handle the contracts and school, he would need to drop the contracts.

For a moment, he had felt like a complete jerk for missing the sword lesson on Wednesday. He did want to see how much Marco had improved and if there were any other pointers he could give the sophomore. Instead, he arrived back in the States on Friday and he was passing out in his first period, or at least trying to. He could hear the others whispering and hear phone cameras clicking. He had no doubt that he looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes and pale.

Jackson slept through first and second period, no one daring to wake him. He woke to the bell and blinked around, seeing unfamiliar faces in the class. He wiped his cheek and packed away his books, realizing that he had no idea what he missed in his classes. Stiles had been great about sharing his notes, thanking Jackson for a reason to focus on something during school and not let his mind wander too much. Jackson was glad to help by doing nothing.

The kid that he knocked shoulders with before he left for Greece bumped him again. “Watch it, Disgraced,” he spat with a smirk.

“Do I need to kick your ass?” Jackson asked and the other just kept the smirk on his face.

“Like I’d waste my time with you,” he said with a scoff and Jackson frowned.

He might be presenting as a Disgraced, but he was still a goddamn Whittemore. “ _Who_ are you?” he demanded, wondering if he was ever going to get a name from the kid.

The kid’s dark blue horns shimmered into reality, looking like goat horns. Jackson ran his eyes over the kid again, realizing that he was a pure demonesque. There was no angelesques or humans within his bloodline, which was probably where his inflated sense of self came from. Angelesques without demonesque or human blood in them had pure white wings that reflected the rainbow, while pure demonesques had goat horns.

Instead, Jackson let a smirk slide onto his face. “You think that’d stop me from kicking your ass up and down these halls?” he asked, sounding almost innocent.

The kid sneered. “You might be a Whittemore, but you really aren’t one, are you?”

Jackson shrugged, crossing his arms and his wings sitting higher on his back, darkening until they appeared real. “I think that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he asked as the kid stared at his wings. “Demonesques don’t have Disgraced children. Any other way you wanna try and hurt me, because you feel pathetic about your own existence?”

The kid scoffed and rolled his eyes, before he turned his back to Jackson. “Calm down, Disgraced. People will think you’ve got something to prove.” He walked off, laughing to himself, horns and tail disappearing.

Growling to himself, Jackson spun around and pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered. He was going to murder that punk. His stupid sense of ‘honor’ was preventing him for attacking first or even attacking when his opponent’s back was turned. Since when did Fallens have a sense of honor? They were all about murder, regardless of how they accomplished it.

“You okay?” Stiles asked as he fell into step beside Jackson.

“I’m fine,” Jackson growled.

“Your wings say otherwise,” a familiar voice Jackson hadn’t heard in a while said. He froze and stared at Danny, who smiled at him.

“You’re talking to me again?” Jackson demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Danny sighed. “I visited my grandmother during winter break. The reception out there is spotty, at best. When I got back, I heard your wings had manifested and I didn’t think you’d be up to me apologizing. You were at school for homeroom and then vanished for four days. When exactly was I meant to apologize to you?”

“You could’ve sent me a text,” Jackson stated, wings rising higher than before. Danny swallowed and stepped back. “You could’ve stopped by to see if I was feeling up to talking. _Stilinski_ dropped by!”

“Hmmm, thanks,” Stiles muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Make me sound like the Elephant Man, why don’t ya?”

Danny sighed, his wing moving in front of him, hiding himself from view. Jackson knew it was a submissive move. He didn’t want to fight and Jackson didn’t want to, either. Taking a deep breath, Jackson relaxed his wings and moved away from Danny. He wasn’t angry with his friend, he was just in the mood to fight and couldn’t believe some punk he didn’t know had angered him that much.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shouldering his bag. “It’s been a rough week.”

Jackson continued down the hallway, while Stiles spoke with Danny. Turning a corner, he almost walked into Scott and Allison, who were standing closer than he remembered seeing them before. They glanced at him and Jackson forced a smile, stepping around the pair. He made it to a bathroom, forcing the door to slam behind him. He threw his bag under a sink and glared at his reflection, eyes widening when he saw that his halo had appeared. The silver flames around the thorns burned brightly and he sighed, hiding it away again. He didn’t need someone walking in and seeing that.

Staring at his reflection, Jackson saw the wings that were taunting him. The reminder that he didn’t have a family. The reminder that he wasn’t accepted anywhere. The reminder that he was alone. He dropped his head, sobbing quietly, tears falling into the sink. That punk had been right. He wasn’t a real Whittemore. His wings were proof of that more than the adoption records. He was a feathered freak in a bloodline of demonesques.

The door started opening and Jackson turned on the water, splashing his face. “I don’t care, McCall,” a familiar voice said and Jackson looked at the door. “Your form needs a lot of work.”

Jackson swallowed and kept his head down. He didn’t need the son of the Hale family seeing him crying in a bathroom. He splashed his face again and turned off the faucet as the other stood at a urinal. Drying his face with paper towel, Jackson grabbed his bag.

“You okay?” the man asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Jackson answered and left the bathroom.

No one spoke to him for the rest of the day.

* * *

On the weekends, Jackson spent most of his time working out in the preserve. He worked on his magic, devastating sections of the preserve, working out his anger. He didn’t stop until he was physically exhausted and was at risk of revealing his halo. When he didn’t want to better his magic, he went to gyms and beat the hell out of heavy bags until he was in the same state of exhaustion. After that, he joined a club for sword masters and bettered his skills, attacking his mentors with aggression to the point that Jackson felt like he was back in boys lacrosse.

He received two contracts and completed them quickly, learning that the violet feathers were hemlock poisoning. Danny texted him, as did Stiles. He barely spoke to them. He barely looked at his parents, deciding to spend most of his nights in his bedroom, building up his muscle definition. When he did see them, words were barely exchanged, not for lack of trying on their behalf. The populace at school parted for him most of the time, deciding that his anger wasn’t something they wanted to experience.

The only days he felt normal were Wednesdays. He worked with Marco and his friends on their techniques, skills and helping them tap into their instinct when it came to their swords. Chris watched him with a smile, not bothered by the black wings. Jackson would always end the two hours with a sparring match against Mason, going heavy handed against the angelesque. Jackson couldn’t deny that his anger was making Mason a better fighter. He stopped himself from being cruel on the boy, though.

Early mornings were spent going for runs through the preserve and then flying back home, where he would spend the next hour sitting on the roof and watching the sky lighten. It was his routine and it seemed to help with some of the anger. A lot of it was still bottled in him, bubbling away under his skin in a way he couldn’t exert. He wanted to expel all of it from his system, but he didn’t know what it was aimed at. His magic and hand-to-hand were on point. He needed a decent mentor for his sword work and wondered if the Hale son would take him on as a student.

Three months after his wings manifested, Jackson felt the need to release them. He could feel them pressing against his muscles, the razor edges of them slicing their way through. Thankfully, he was at home and just went up to his bedroom, a scream ripping from his throat as his wings tore through his back and shirt. He collapsed to the floor and passed out in his own blood, figuring that was normal.

Alan gave him the same potion as before and for the next week, he was out of school while he healed. Danny and Stiles came around to drop off his homework and tell him about assignments. Jackson sat on a metal stool, his wings tearing up the carpet, while Danny and Stiles looked at the chainmail covering on his bed. The only thing his wings had a difficult time cutting through was metal. It was uncomfortable as hell to sleep on, but he preferred it over the floor.

Danny had more bad news for Jackson, who had wanted to try out for the team next year. Fallens were not allowed on teams, as they were considered an unfair advantage. Given that they could murder anyone they wanted and claim it was a contract, Jackson understood. That was if the school knew he was a Fallen. Everyone thought of him as Disgraced, but those with black wings just weren’t allowed on teams. It was some form of bigotry that was masked as everyone with black wings being a Fallen. Jackson had just nodded and accepted it. He could find something else to take up his time.

“Are you ever going to speak again?” Danny asked one day, looking up from his textbook.

“I talk,” Jackson answered, eyes on the book he was reading for English.

“Barely. You don’t really respond to texts, either. You’ve been in a bad mood since that kid gave you shit in the hallway.” Danny sat up from where he was sprawled atop the bed, having moved the chainmail protector. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you took that anger and turned it into something else. Your body has never looked more fabulous.”

Jackson looked up and frowned, staring at Danny. He broke into a grin and shook his head. “You couldn’t get any gayer if you tried, man,” he said, feeling a little lighter than before.

“It got you to smile,” Danny said with a shrug and closed his textbook. “What happened? You seemed fine before that idiot spoke.”

“He struck a nerve,” Jackson answered with a shrug, his feathers ruffling at the movement. “My kind…the Disgraced tend to have a lot of anger. I tried working it out, but…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, wondering how he could explain it.

“But…?” Danny pried, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jackson opened his eyes and gazed at his best friend. “But there’s still so much of it left in me. I’ve been trying my hardest to get it all out, but I need someone I can spar with. I need someone on my level.”

Danny nodded slowly. “Scott was saying that you were the most advanced with your weapon. Have you tried finding a mentor?”

“In the last three months, I’ve gone through every single mentor available. They aren’t able to handle someone that isn’t a beginner. They all gave me the same advice on what to do, how to hold the sword… All the bullshit I already know.” Jackson glared at the book he was reading and tossed it onto his desk, standing. He raised his wings to prevent them from destroying his already ruined carpet.

“What about the guy that spoke to Scott?” Jackson frowned at him, curious on if there was a mentor he had missed. “That hot guy… Oh, what’s his name?” Danny narrowed his eyes for a moment, before a grin spread over his face. “Derek!”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Danny’s eyes widened and he pulled his phone out. He brought up an app and Jackson was a little worried that Danny was cyber-stalking some guy. “Scott took a picture of him.” He brought up the picture and tossed his phone to Jackson, who looked at the man in the picture.

“Oh, Talia’s son.” Jackson looked at the picture. The Hale son looked good in it. “His name is Derek?” he asked and tossed the phone back to Danny. He could have sworn the man’s name was Damon or Patrick.

“Pretty sure you’ve met him before. His family has a lot of dealings with yours,” Danny said as he looked at the picture. “Maybe he’ll take you on as a student.”

Jackson had already given it consideration. The last time they dueled, the Hale son had won because Jackson’s wings chose that night to manifest. Once they were retracted, he could give it another shot. He was looking forward to kicking someone’s ass that was more on his level than some high school students. He glanced at Danny and nodded. It couldn’t hurt to try.

* * *

Next Saturday, when his wings could finally be retracted, Jackson headed to the preserve. He knocked on the door and smiled at Laura, asking if her brother was in. Laura raised an eyebrow, but nodded and invited Jackson into the house. Jackson entered the house, following her to the large kitchen. He smiled politely at Talia as she stared at him in surprise. None of them were expecting him to show up and Jackson understood. He didn’t have any of their numbers, though.

The son came downstairs in jeans and Henley, filling both nicely. Jackson put on a charming smile and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Jackson,” he said and the son frowned.

“We’ve met four times in the last six months,” he said and crossed his arms. “How are you forgetting that?”

“No idea,” Jackson answered with a shrug and dropped his hand. “I need a sword mentor. I can pay whatever your rates are and probably double it.”

The Hale son – _Derek_ – regarded him blankly, running his eyes over his frame. “I only deal with beginners,” he said. “You aren’t one. Sorry.”

“Do I need to challenge you to a duel?” Jackson asked, wings flapping lazily behind him.

“You can challenge me all you want,” Derek said. “I won’t accept.”

It was his choice, but Jackson felt like he was being punished for something. “Okay. Sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, forcing himself to remain very calm. “It was great to see you again, Talia.” He gave her a smile and slipped past Derek. Once outside, he rolled his shoulders, feeling them tense up. It was time to hit the heavy bag again.

“Whittemore,” Derek said as he stepped onto the porch. Jackson turned around. “There are a dozen sword mentors in Beacon Hills. Why come here?”

“I’ve gone through all of them. None of them could challenge me.” Jackson nodded his head, flapping his wings and hovering a few feet from the ground. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Get back down here,” Derek said and sighed, walking down the steps. “I charge forty every half hour,” he explained as Jackson landed lightly. “There’s also a waiver to sign, absolving me of all responsibility for any injuries you may incur. I’ve seen your work before, so I don’t know what you expect from me. You have the skills, you just need to refine them.”

“In order to refine them, I need someone that can challenge me,” Jackson stated with a glare. “I’m here out of necessity. I remember how you fought at the Christmas dinner.”

Derek gazed at him, eyes devoid of emotion and Jackson wondered if he’d done something wrong. “Saturdays are my day off. I’m fully booked at the moment, but I have some openings during summer break. If you think you can wait that long.”

“Do I have a choice? I’ll sign your waiver when we start training.” Jackson jumped up again and nodded at Derek, before he flapped his way back home. He slipped into his bedroom via the window and rolled his shoulders. His wings were restless in their fleshy cage.

* * *

The day he turned fifteen, Jackson couldn’t celebrate it. His wings chose that day to rip out of his back again, destroying his bedroom and carpet. When he woke up from the pain, he sighed. His room had only just stopped smelling like the glue used to keep the carpet in place and fresh paint. If it kept going that way, he would just deal with the stench of blood. It couldn’t be any worse than having someone redo his room, only for him to wreck it every three months. Still, it was three months of peace.

After showering, Jackson went downstairs and froze when he heard voices in the kitchen. He entered and found Derek resting against the breakfast counter, talking with his father, who must have returned from his conference that morning. David looked over and smiled. “Morning, Jackson. You hungry?”

“Starving,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “I didn’t realize we were having company. Morning, Derek.”

“You remembered my name,” Derek said with a smirk as Jackson glared at him. “I was starting to think I made so little of an impression on you.”

Jackson sat on a metal chair, ignoring the sound of his feathers scratching up the tiles beneath him. He brought his wings forward a little, mostly to stop them from sparking on the chair. “What are you doing here, Derek? If it’s about the training…I can’t start today or for the next week.”

David looked at Jackson sharply and the Fallen nodded. David sighed softly, plating up the pancakes and putting them in front of Jackson. “You have that assignment to finish, right?” he asked and Jackson smiled his gratitude.

“Yeah. History. Need to pick something of importance to Beacon Hills and write an essay on it,” Jackson answered as he splashed as little maple syrup as possible on his pancakes.

“I was here at your father’s request, actually,” Derek said, turning to face David. “I’ll have it completed by the end of the week.” He headed for the kitchen entrance and paused, looking at Jackson. “Good seeing you again. I’ll drop off the waiver for your father to look through.”

“Thanks. Have fun,” Jackson said, keeping his eyes on his breakfast. The words Derek used made it sound like he had accepted a contract from his father. Once the front door closed, Jackson looked up. “You’re using an outside contractor?”

“There are some things that don’t require a Fallen’s unique…skills,” David said as he sat across the table from Jackson. “Besides, you’ve had more contracts than I’ve given Derek. At this point, I think you have more money than I do.” He grinned.

“Not if I keep hiring people to clean and redecorate my damn room,” Jackson muttered and glared down at his breakfast, before he finished it. “It’s annoying that you and Mom practically have Doc Deaton on speed dial.”

“I don’t think he minds,” David said as he sipped his coffee, watching Jackson. “This is a first for all of us.”

Jackson blinked at his father. “You think my wings manifesting is a _first_ for me? I have to relive that cluster-fuck of a nightmare every season,” he stated and sat back.

“I know,” David said gently, as though he was trying to soothe an angry animal.

Jackson glared at him as that thought entered his head. He was fifteen. He didn’t need to be treated like a child. He’d done things most _adults_ wouldn’t dream of doing. “Don’t patronize me,” he hissed and David sighed.

“I’m not patronizing you, Jackson. Now, what’s got you so angry, aside from your wings manifesting, again?” David sat forward, giving Jackson his undivided attention.

Jackson shrugged. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was. His father giving a contract to Derek instead of him. Being unable to train with Derek because of his wings. His wings in general. The fact he still hadn’t revealed his halo to anyone. The fact that Danny thought it was normal for a Disgraced to have _lethal_ wings. Derek barely acknowledging him when he entered the room. His wings, again. Life in general, if he had to name it. Maybe it was just plain puberty. Maybe it was the fact that every season the house was covered in metal. Maybe it was the fact that his birthday had to be canceled because he couldn’t be around his friends.

“Fuck life,” Jackson hissed and glared out the door to the back deck.

David nodded and collected their plates. “I’m just going to put this down to puberty and leave you alone for a little while. Okay?”

Jackson nodded and stood up, going the door. He made sure he went sideways, as he didn’t want to damage the frame. In the backyard, his swords appeared by his thighs and he crossed his arms, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The summer sun felt good on his body and wings, almost like it was enriching his blood. For just a moment, he could pretend he was in one of the Spectral Wars, facing against the enemy on the battlefield.

A song lyric came to mind ( _the path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell_ ) and Jackson’s vision changed. He was standing in a desolate wasteland, the only one standing against an army of demons. The parched land would flood with their blood and a smirk curved his lips as he gripped his swords, taking his stance. He had no idea where that battle took place, but he knew it was somewhere from his grace’s past. He had fought in that battle.

As the demons grew closer, their disfigured faces coming into view, he bent his knees, wings raising behind him. “ _Będę się za was wszystkich modlić_ ,” he whispered and went through the motions.

He clashed with the demons, wings slicing through their bodies easily, just as smoothly as his blades were. There was no need to refine his skill. He moved fast and light, killing one and then another in quick succession. He could almost feel their hot blood splattering on him, his combat training coming in. He swung his legs, kicking away the demons that would dare to lay a claw on him.

Flicking his wrists, he removed the blood from the blades and regripped the handles in a different way. The left blade was placed against his forearm, head bowed and waiting for the demons to make their next move. One gave a roaring hiss and launched itself at him. He grinned, his left sword slicing the body in half, moving in his hand as the others came at him again. He moved through the horde, hearing them screeching in pain as they tried to attack his back. His wings made that impossible.

As they surrounded him more, his wings flapped and he was rising above them, still dripping swords by his thighs. Silver flames engulfed his hands and moved up his arms, encasing his wings. The demons stood, almost transfixed at the way the flames danced along his feathers, giving his wings a metal appearance. His eyes opened and glowed silver, embracing the grace that had invaded him entirely.

“ _W ogniu się urodziłeś, w ogniu oczyszczam cię_.”

Jackson’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, crashing to the ground. He landed awkwardly on his arm, gritting his teeth as his elbow twisted the wrong way. He sat up, his wings wrapping around his body, covered in silver flames. He shook his head and dispersed the magic on his wings, getting slowly to his feet. His swords vanished and he made his way into the kitchen, going to the freezer.

Grabbing an ice-pack, Jackson went back to the metal chair, kicking it out and collapsed in it. He placed the pack on his elbow, growling at the chill. How much had the neighbors seen? Tilting his head back, he saw that his halo was still hidden. He sighed and shook his head. That day could not get any worse. If he was lucky, the neighbors had better things to do than stare into his backyard and see what he was doing.

_Polish,_ he thought and frowned. _I was speaking Polish. I speak Polish…?_ Jackson tilted his head. He had wondered what the phrase he said to his marks was. It wasn’t a language he recognized and he had no idea how he could now. He knew exactly what he was saying, as well. The knowledge was in his head, which made him believe that the last Fallen with this grace was definitely Polish. Why did Fallens share grace?

There was almost no information out about Fallens, which was just typical. Jackson glared at his elbow bitterly. Somehow, he could handle being an angelesque with demonesque parents. That made far more sense than him speaking Polish and being a freaking Fallen. It made more sense than him being in a battle, probably eons ago, back when angels and demons ruled the world. How much blood had the lands seen? How much blood would they continue to see?

_How many battles has my grace seen?_ That thought made Jackson curious. He didn’t even know that his grace was already used. He didn’t know that Fallens shared their grace. Somehow, he just knew that it was true. There were times that he wished he was still with Deucalion and stood up, keeping the ice-pack to his elbow as he went up to his bedroom. They might not be sharing a house anymore, but Deucalion was the closest thing he had to a mentor that understood him.

Stepping into his room, Jackson paused when he saw the blood. He doubted he’d ever get used to seeing that. He grabbed his phone and saw that his father had already put the chainmail across his bed. He sat down and called Deucalion, unsure if he would be training with Aiden and Ethan. If all else failed, when he was healed, he could always fly out to see him.

The call rang out and Jackson sighed, hanging up. He flopped back on the bed, staring at the blood spray on the ceiling. He would need to tell Derek that their training would be postponed again. Once his wings and elbow were healed, he was going to Vermont again.

* * *

A week later, once everything was healed and away, Jackson stepped onto the porch of Deucalion’s farmhouse. He narrowed his eyes slightly and tried the doorknob, frowning when it was locked. Stepping back, he peered in through the windows and found that the living room looked the same. As far as he remembered, Deucalion didn’t lock his doors.

Going over to the stables, Jackson blinked as he found the horses were in their stalls. They still had feed and their water was fresh, which told him that Deucalion wasn’t dead. The Disgraced could be in town, getting supplies, but that still didn’t explain why his door was locked. After petting the muzzle of a brown and white pinto, Jackson went back to the house. He tried the backdoor into the laundry room and raised an eyebrow when it was unlocked. He entered the house, removing his jacket and made himself a cup of tea.

His wings vanished as he heard someone walking towards the kitchen. Their footsteps were a little heavier than Deucalion’s and Jackson didn’t want an unknown seeing his wings. He kept his back to the room, making his tea. He could feel the curious eyes on him as the person stepped into the kitchen, every intention of trying to take him by surprise. Jackson spun around, foot connecting with the cheek of the woman behind him. She tumbled to the ground and he grabbed his sword, crouching over her, blade to her throat.

“Who are you?” he demanded, eyes narrowed.

“Kali,” she answered, swallowing thickly. “Who are you?”

“Jackson.” He remained where he was, staring into her dark eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I was visiting Deucalion.” Her eyes moved to his arm that held the sword to her throat. “Why are you here?”

“Tea,” he said, applying a little more pressure to the sword, enough to break the skin and make spots of blood appear. “Does Deucalion know you’re here?”

“Yes,” she breathed, trying not to breathe.

“Let her up, kid,” Deucalion said from the kitchen entrance.

Jackson stood up, spinning his sword and still glaring at the woman. It vanished from his hand and he finished making his tea, while Kali stood, pressing paper towel to her throat. “I tried calling, but it rang out. And since you don’t have an answering machine, here.” He tossed a box to Deucalion. “I’ve already put my number in it.”

Deucalion opened the box and pulled out the cell phone. “Thanks for coming around, Kali. Guess I’ll give you a call on this.” He smirked and shook the cell phone at the woman.

She gave a nervous smile and threw out the paper towel. “I’ll see you around,” she said, glancing at Jackson as he turned around, smiling politely at her. “Nice meeting you, Jackson.”

“You, too, Kali,” he said and sipped the tea. She left the kitchen, grabbed her belongings and left the house. “She can’t defend herself worth a damn,” he told Deucalion, who sat down at the table.

“No one can really defend themselves against a Fallen,” Deucalion said as Jackson made another cup of tea and handed it to the man. “What brings you here?”

“What do you know about a Fallen’s grace?”

Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked. “I began looking into that last month, because I was curious about it, as well. I know that angelesques and Disgraced get their own unique grace from…well, I guess the cosmos. But there was always something… _special_ about the grace of a Fallen.”

Jackson sat opposite Deucalion and waited for a few seconds. “Don’t make me hurt you, old timer.”

Deucalion glared as he sipped his tea. “Fallens’ grace is from an angel, an actual angel,” he said. “Angelesques first got their grace from Nephilims. Demonesques got their stigma from the demon-hybrid equivalent. There’s a reason why Fallens were worshipped at one stage and are now feared. Their power – _your_ power – is an astounding force that can destroy the world.”

Jackson blinked and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have an angel’s grace? What angel died in order for me to get that?”

“Angels don’t die, just like demons don’t. They can’t really die, but their grace or stigma wanders the cosmos, waiting for the right host. Your grace has probably been hosted by thousands of Fallens.” Deucalion smiled as Jackson lowered his eyes. “Your instinct is from thousands of Fallens learning what you are.”

“I think the last Fallen with this grace was Polish,” Jackson said and raised his eyes.

Deucalion shrugged. “Could have been. Are you speaking Polish?” Jackson nodded and the man frowned. “Wait here a moment.”

Jackson stayed in the kitchen as Deucalion left. He finished his tea and washed out the cup, sitting back down. He frowned when Deucalion returned a few minutes later with many books. He dropped them on the table and Jackson blinked at them, curious where Deucalion was going with all this.

“I always wanted to know why you had silver,” Deucalion said and Jackson frowned, vaguely remembering him bringing that up. “Silver is a cleanser. You have healing feathers, which I thought was because you care about your friends.” He opened a book and handed it to Jackson. “You have the grace of the archangel Raphael.”

Jackson grabbed the book, seeing the depiction of the archangel. He had two swords on his thighs, black wings behind him that reflected the colors of the rainbow. The swords were identical to his, though he couldn’t see any etchings on the blades. The blades were black with silver leather around the handle and the pommel curving up onto a point. He looked at the heading – Raphael the Healer.

‘Raphael was the healer in God’s army. While he used to be depicted with a staff, the Spectral War has documented him as one of three archangels that could dual-wield swords. His main focus was healing his fallen brothers and the humans that were caught in the crossfire, but he was a great warrior, having learned most of his tactics and maneuvers from his older brother, Michael. Raphael was thought as one of the worst archangels, as he could heal those he wanted to torture. His black wings were the only ones to reflect different colors, though no one knows why. Every Fallen that has received his grace has received the same wings. All have refused to discuss the reason for the colors. The Fallen’s crown of thorns has been encased in silver flames and silver is their go-to color for all elements of their magic. The other archangel grace include – Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raguel and Remiel.”

Jackson sat back and stared at Deucalion. “I have the grace of an archangel?”

While he sounded calm, Jackson was having a mild mental breakdown. Anyone could read that book and learn that he was a Fallen. Granted, some Disgraced had a rainbow sheen to their wings, but there wasn’t enough for him to claim he wasn’t Fallen. Still, as that information wasn’t available on the internet, Jackson guessed it was safe to say that no one, except Deucalion, had read that book. No one had seen his silver flames, either. As far as anyone in sword class knew, his swords were just unique to him. There really wasn’t much to worry about, as long as he kept his halo hidden.

The grace of an archangel. Jackson remembered those camping trips, where the youth workers would speak so highly of God’s angels. Angelesques and demonesques weren’t bound to any religion, free to worship whoever they wanted. But the tales that the youth workers would spin, which had the others entranced at the beauty and majesty of the angels, had Jackson wanting to hear more about their battles. He wasn’t touched by the grace when he was younger, though. Maybe that was why he was picked as the perfect host for the grace of an archangel.

“No one ever really understood why Fallens were as powerful as they are,” Deucalion said as he sat down, taking the book and gazing at the picture of Raphael. “All everyone knew was that Fallens could devastate cities, possibly even countries. Those with black wings were to be feared and avoided at all costs.”

“And now you think I have the grace of an archangel within me?”

“You sort of fit the description, kid,” Deucalion stated with a glare. “You even have the arrogance of an angel.”

“Nah, I’m just good,” Jackson said with a smirk.

Deucalion chuckled and shook his head. “You almost sound like Lucifer.” He finished his tea and leaned forward. “Of course, this is all just a theory. But the facts line up with the rumors. You don’t have to believe it, but that explains why you can speak Polish, when you couldn’t before. It explains why your instinct is so on point that you barely needed training. You tapped into your grace faster than any other Fallen I’ve known. You tapped into it faster than my wife.”

Jackson sat back, eyes lowered. The skills were buried in him and he just needed to refine them and make them shine. He was meant to do that with Derek, but it seemed things were always getting in the way. He looked up, opening his mouth to ask about his wings manifesting two years early when his phone chimed. He groaned and pulled it from his back pocket, checking it. Another contract. At least it was in Texas, which meant he could complete it quickly and return home. At some point during the summer break, he intended to battle Derek.

“My wings manifested,” he said as he locked his phone. Deucalion’s eyes widened.

“You’re early for that, as well,” Deucalion said and stood up. “May I?”

“I haven’t got them out,” Jackson said, grinning over his shoulder as Deucalion moved to stand behind him. “You were the one to tell me to make my wings look as physical as possible.”

Deucalion sighed, the breath tickling the feathers, before the wings vanished. “I should have known that. They aren’t destroying my house and I don’t have the appropriate gloves to handle them.” He sat down again and gazed at Jackson. “What were you doing when they manifested?”

“Dueling a demonesque,” Jackson answered with a shrug. “I almost had him, too. If it wasn’t for my wings, I’d have won the damn thing.” He snarled and sat back.

“There’s more to life than winning duels, kid,” Deucalion said with a smile. “Sounds like you’ve found a challenge in someone.”

“He’s good,” Jackson admitted and looked up, a smirk falling onto his lips. “But I’m better.”

“You certainly have the pride of a Fallen.” Deucalion closed the book. “You wanna stay for dinner, kid?”

Jackson checked the contract again. He could arrive in Houston in the morning and kill the target by the evening. He looked up at Deucalion and smiled, nodding. “Sounds good to me, old timer.”

“We have the choice of pizza or pizza,” Deucalion said as he grabbed the menus from the fridge.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “You need a better diet, man. You’re not a spring chicken, anymore,” he teased as he stood up and joined the man. “Giuseppe’s uses real cheese. Let’s go with them. And they deliver out to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”

Deucalion returned the other menu to the fridge and glanced at Jackson. “You make Twin Falls sound like a one horse town, kid. I take care of at least six.”

Jackson looked out the window, gazing at the stable. A smiled started to curve his lips, until it froze and he rolled his shoulders. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he said as Deucalion stood beside him, trying to find what had the teen on edge. There was a strange knot of emotions in his stomach and his shoulders were tensing, as though he was getting ready to fight.

“I feel it, too, kid.”

Jackson turned to ask what it felt like to him, when there was an explosion. He hit the back wall of the kitchen, falling to the ground. His ears were ringing as he tried to get eyes on Deucalion to make sure he was fine. He coughed, vaguely tasting copper as his vision blurred, the edges darkening by the second. He was almost certain he was trying to say something, but unconsciousness claimed him moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it. Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Thanks for the comment. I hope this answered some of the questions you had. I think you can see that Talia knew what she was talking about. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Thank you so much for that comment! As for the Stiles question... I haven't really delved that much into it. But I will say that sometimes he isn't sure when someone is lying to him, unless he has a reference for them. I wish Jackson could keep his wings out, but as they cause so much damage (and can kill someone) he needs to retract them. And how the heck did you know it was Matt? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Tpadimo: ¡Hola querida! Gracias por el comentario. Te prometo que Danny y Jackson arreglarán las cosas. Eso es el próximo capítulo. También es uno de mis favoritos. ¡Espero que hayas disfrutado de este capítulo y no puedo esperar a tener noticias tuyas de nuevo!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: I should have figured that was you. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! It was the camera, wasn't it? That's how everyone knew it was him, right?
> 
> To those that left kudos, thanks a bunch! Y'all rock.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	7. Truth Comes Out

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

**Author's Note:** I have no idea what Lydia's father is really like, but I needed an asshole for this chapter (and future chapters) and he was convenient. Sorry if he was a great guy in the show. I was just too lazy to think of an original character. Though, I guess he kinda is, being that he's nothing like he was in the show. Either way, y'all be warned! Enjoy!

* * *

When Jackson’s eyes finally opened and were working again, he frowned as he saw Deucalion on his stomach not far from him. That wasn’t what had him frowning, eyes slowly widening in surprised fury. He saw leather clad men standing over Deucalion, one holding a wing and the other with a hacksaw. He couldn’t see their faces, as they wore masks that were reminiscent of demons. The mouths of the masks were twisted up in a cruel sneer and he could hear one giving orders.

Flexing his fingers and then his shoulders, Jackson decided that his body was awake enough. He launched himself at the one that was holding the hacksaw. He snapped the neck, turning his furious eyes to the other five that were staring at him. He forgot that he had his halo and wings hidden, which probably had them thinking he was a human that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Touch him again and you die,” Jackson warned, grabbing the one that was holding Deucalion’s wing.

Jackson had no idea who these people were, but he could only assume they were the Angel Killers that Deucalion told him about. If he killed them, he doubted he would feel any remorse for them. They were attacking a friend, trying to murder his friend slowly and painfully. He threw the one he held out of the hole in the kitchen wall.

“You got lucky the first time, kid,” a gruff voice stated.

Jackson squared his shoulders, knowing he wasn’t nearly as tall or as strong as them. The problem with being fifteen, he assumed. Still, if they managed to kill him, he wasn’t going down without a fight. His swords floated by his hips as he crossed his arms, waiting for one of them to make a move. He wanted to massacre some Angel Killers. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly turned-on by the prospect.

A smirk curved his lips. “Let’s see how good you are against one that’s conscious,” he said.

The gruff-voiced human sighed and pulled a gun from his belt. Jackson frowned at it, unsure if he was fast enough to stop a bullet. He highly doubted it. His eyes widened when he felt his wings moving around in their cage. The one holding the gun tilted his head slightly, before he lowered the weapon and shot Deucalion in the back. Jackson’s eyes widened, watching as blood pooled from the hole.

Turning his eyes from the dying mentor, he stared at the one with the gun blankly. His body felt cold, the anger that had been boiling under his skin soothing. His wings ripped from his back, adding his blood to the kitchen. The pain wasn’t registering with him, but he knew his halo was out as well.

“He’s a Fallen,” one hissed, taking a step back.

Shoulders painfully straight, Jackson focused on the one with the gun, who raised it and fired at him. Jackson turned slightly, hearing the bullet ricochet off the feathers. That classed as an attack in his brain. With speed he didn’t know he possessed, he was in front of the human in a blink of an eye. As much as he wanted to melt the man’s bones with his acid, his sword sliced through the neck. Knowing he needed to keep his identity a secret, Jackson turned to the others that were scrambling through the hole they created.

Attaching his swords together to make a double-bladed spear, Jackson stepped out after them. He jumped up and landed in front of them, his spear making short work of the humans, easily moving through their necks. Turning around, he scanned the area, wanting to make sure they were the only ones. He didn’t know how Angel Killers worked, knowing only that they collected wings. Someone had to have told them about Deucalion.

Not feeling anymore threats around, Jackson ran back into the house. He threw a blue-sheened feather into Deucalion and snapped his fingers. Deucalion gasped and opened his eyes, remaining motionless for a moment, before he got to his knees and looked around. Jackson felt his shoulders relax, relief flooding him. His swords vanished from his hand, feeling the need to cry.

Deucalion took in his destroyed kitchen and the blood that was sprayed on the walls. His eyes settled on Jackson and he blinked at the wings. “You shouldn’t have brought those out,” he said and Jackson nodded.

Without the cold rage keeping everything at bay, he could feel the rips on his shoulders and back. The need to pass out again was starting to take over, but he simply pulled his wings back into his body. He hissed as the air hit the open wounds and knew he would be exceptionally sore for the contract in Texas. Instead of mentioning that, he checked Deucalion’s wings, wanting to make sure the bastards hadn’t done any damage to them. He wasn’t sure if his feathers could heal wings or not.

“I’m fine, kid,” Deucalion said and frowned at Jackson. “What’s got you so…worked…” He stood up and turned over the corpse of the Angel Killer. “Shit. That explains a lot. Where are the others?”

“In pieces outside,” Jackson answered, laughing at the expression on Deucalion’s face. “What, you think I’d go easy on them because they’re human? They were about to take your wings.”

Deucalion looked out through the hole, seeing the headless bodies. “Fuck, kid,” he said and shook his head. “That explains why your wings came out.” He sighed and turned around, gazing at the streaks of blood from Jackson’s wings. “That will be hard to explain to the Sheriff.”

“I’m registered,” Jackson said with a shrug and Deucalion frowned. “It was about a week after I left here, actually. What, you think divine intervention would let me be a teenager? I can’t even play lacrosse, because I have black wings.” He curled his lip back in distaste and glared at the floor, before he sighed. “There haven’t been that many contracts, so I’ve needed something to do with myself. Without lacrosse, I bettered my magic and my hand-to-hand. The damn sword masters in Beacon Hills only want beginners. I managed to convince one to take me on, just to see if I can work out some of this anger!”

Deucalion placed a hand on Jackson’s head. “That’s puberty, kid,” he said and Jackson frowned up at him. “The anger is part of puberty. It feels like the entire world is against you. I mean, in your case, it’s true. You _are_ Fallen. But hormones, anger, angst and acne are all just part of puberty.”

Jackson sighed and crossed his arms as Deucalion removed his hand. “Great,” he muttered. “Better get the Sheriff here, so we can go out to eat. Once I wake up.” He collapsed, letting the darkness claim him again.

* * *

Back in Beacon Hills, Jackson laid on his stomach, waiting for his back to heal. He stared at the window that overlooked the front yard. The Texas contract was painful to complete, but he managed to stab the angelesque through the heart. All he wanted to do was sleep for the next week, but as it was summer break, his friends wanted to spend time with him. Danny was coming around and Jackson couldn’t move his arms without biting back screams of pain.

Deucalion had been right. Releasing his wings was a stupid move. When they wanted out on their own, he was still able to use his arms. Maybe it was because he retracted them so quickly after releasing them. Jackson had no idea, as there wasn’t much written about a Fallen’s wings. Or it could have something to do with the potion that Alan gave him.

As he waited for Danny to arrive, Jackson dozed. He could hear his mother moving around downstairs, making sure the house was in perfect order for the following month. Fourth of July was arriving quickly and Jackson was hoping to be out on a contract. He really didn’t want to deal with anyone, from any family.

His window slid open and Jackson stayed where he was, listening. There were two of them, moving closer to the bed. His muscles tensed, ignoring the pain radiating from his shoulders. They were within reach. His body twisted, a foot meeting the chest of each of the intruders. He opened his eyes, sword in his hand as he glared at the idiots that would try to sneak up on him. Danny and Stiles groaned from the floor, rubbing their sternums and trying to catch their breath.

“You couldn’t come through the front door?” Jackson demanded as his sword disappeared and the pain came to the forefront of his mind again. He gritted his teeth as he laid on his stomach again, screaming into his pillow for a moment.

Stiles stood beside the bed, tendering touching around the healing gashes. “Damn, dude. That’s nasty. Mind if I try something?”

“If it causes more pain, I may kill you,” Jackson warned and turned his head slightly, so he could breathe and to glare at Stiles.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Stiles said as he pulled a vial from the pocket of his jeans. “There’s this demonesque girl that’s big on biology. I told her about your wings manifesting,” he went on and pulled the stopper out. “She reckons this should help with the healing process.”

Danny stared down at the gashes, wincing as he could see down to the bone of the shoulder. He leaned over a little more, realizing that he could see the retracted wings moving around. His eyes widened and he ran to Jackson’s bathroom, throwing up. Jackson figured it wouldn’t be pretty to look at, but Stiles didn’t seem to have an issue. He poured the potion into the wounds and Jackson screamed as it sizzled, burying his face into the pillow.

“Oh…I didn’t mention that you were ‘Disgraced,’” Stiles said as he waved his hand, trying to clear out the smoke that was coming from Jackson’s back. “I’ll just get Doc Deaton here, yeah?”

Jackson just screamed and cried into his pillow, wanting _something_ to stop the burning. His body seemed to think that releasing his wings would stop the burning that was happening in his muscles and oddly enough, it did. He took in heaving breaths, raising his tear-streaked face and glaring at Stiles. If he did more damage that required his wings to stay out longer, he was going to _slaughter_ that angelesque.

“Oh!” Stiles was saying into his phone. “Yeah, diluting it would probably make a lot more sense.” He turned around and froze at the glare of death on Jackson’s face. “Yeah, he released his wings… And I think I’m about to have a contract on me.”

Jackson tried to sit up, but his shoulders refused to move without screeching their pain all over his body. His body and his wings just flopped. Swallowing, Jackson felt his eyes fluttering. He was getting tired of passing out from the pain, but his brain was telling him to sleep. If he slept, he could heal faster, but his friends were visiting. Even if one of those friends did just cause a load of pain that made him want to die.

“Just sleep, Jacks,” Danny whispered, pushing Jackson’s fringe from his eyes. “We’ll be around in a couple of days.” He smiled and stood, stepping around the large wing that could take off his foot.

Jackson wanted them to stay. He wanted to spend time with people that could make him feel almost normal. As his wings gave a pitiful flap, he realized that he wasn’t normal. His friends left his bedroom the way they came, through the window. Thankfully, they kept it open and the strong breeze was cooling on his overheated body. His fingers twitched and his eyes slowly closed, constantly opening, as though he was expecting someone else to show up at the window. Eventually, he fell asleep just as his mother was coming up the stairs to tell him lunch was ready.

* * *

Fourth of July rolled around and Jackson was in the kitchen, helping his mother get the food ready. It took longer than usual for his back to heal, but he was able to retract his wings without any issues. His ethereal wings flapped behind him lazily as he took bowls of coleslaw and potato salad out to the deck. His father was working on the barbeque. Fighting with it was probably more correct. Every year, he had the same issue with getting the gas to connect and pump correctly.

The doorbell rang and Jackson went inside, letting his mother grab the drinks from the fridge. He opened the door and grinned at the Martin family, stepping to the side. Behind them was the Argents. Allison hugged him, while the daughter of the Martin family ran her eye over him critically. Jackson knew all about Lydia Martin, her brain and he wondered if she was the demonesque girl that gave the potion to Stiles that tortured him. All of them had been around previously, so Jackson just told them where the food was.

As they walked through, Jackson saw Allison’s wings shimmer into reality. White with a pink-blue dual chromatic shift to them. He couldn’t make out her halo from where he stood, but he noticed her wings looked more red than pink, almost like they were splattered with blood. Wondering if she was a fighter, Jackson was about to ask the question when the doorbell rang again.

The Hale family was next to arrive and Jackson accepted the hug from Talia and Laura, slapping Cora’s hand and nodding at Derek. They went straight through to the back deck and Jackson was about to close the door when he heard another car pull up. He smiled and waited for Stiles and his father to get out of the police cruiser. Stiles ran up to the door and hugged Jackson, while Noah approached with a little more grace than his son.

Scott and his mom were next. Jackson gave Scott a one-armed hug and a charming smile to his mother. They were followed closely by Danny and his parents. As far as Jackson could remember that was everyone and he closed the front door, already feeling wiped out. He joined the pack outside, seeing that most of the kids from school had moved from the desk down to the lawn. Stiles and Lydia were by the pool fence and Jackson tilted his head, wondering if anyone was up for a swim. It was barely lunchtime and the weather was only going to get warmer.

Danny, Scott and Allison were having a discussion about the last test of the previous year, while Cora was offering her services for cheat sheets. Scott looked as though he was going to take her up on the offer and Jackson was about to join them when Mister Martin blocked his view. The man stared at his wings and Jackson raised an eyebrow, curious if he was going to say anything about them.

“Never thought Beacon Hills would see a Disgraced,” he said as he straightened. His black goat horns shimmered into reality and Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Is it any different?”

“To being demonesque? Wouldn’t know, sir,” Jackson said and tried to step around him. “Enjoy the food.”

“Actually, I meant if it was any different to being angelesque,” Mister Martin said as he blocked Jackson’s escape. “I’ve always been curious about it. Disgraced just have tainted grace, right? So…you’re angelesque, but your magic leans towards demonesque?”

Jackson blinked, realizing he didn’t know the first thing about being Disgraced. Instead, he smiled and decided to flub it. “Something like that. Our anger is a little more out of control, as well. We’re a cousin of the Fallen.”

Mister Martin shivered. “Fallens. Horrible abominations.” He sipped his water and Jackson fought to keep the glare from his face and eyes.

“I don’t see a problem with them,” he said with a shrug. “Fallens serve a purpose, just like everyone else.”

“You condone murder for money?” Misses Mahealani asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Careful,” a voice said behind him, a warm hand at the base of his neck.

The hand seemed to still Jackson’s swirling mind. “I’m Disgraced. I’m not opposed to murder. If I could get paid to murder people, I’d probably have my dream job. After all, I can’t play lacrosse because I have black wings.” The hand moved from his neck and the presence behind him disappeared.

“There really isn’t anything wrong with murder for money,” Talia said as she stood beside Jackson.

“Aside from it being wrong,” Mister Martin said and Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve always believed those with black wings had black hearts.”

Jackson went still, his wings rising high. He stared at Mister Martin as his wings darkened. “How nice to know that someone as intelligent as you is a bigot,” he said quietly, eyes growing cold.

“Are you thirsty, Jackson?” Laura asked and took hold of his arm, pulling him away from Mister Martin and over to the long table.

Jackson blinked and his wings relaxed as he exhaled shakily. How could someone like that raise a daughter that didn’t care about someone’s wings? “Thanks,” he said as he accepted the glass of sparkling water.

“Don’t worry about him,” Laura said softly, glancing at Mister Martin. “He’s an idiot that believes anyone who isn’t ‘pure’ is beneath him.” She shook her head.

“And his daughter is a genius that doesn’t give a shit about someone’s bloodline,” Jackson said and drank the water. “Thanks for getting me away from that moron.”

Laura smiled, her eyes dancing. “Of course. You looked about three heartbeats away from murdering him, just to prove a point.” She laughed for a moment, before she calmed down and the smile remained. “You might want to get that anger of yours under control, though.”

“In my defense, I’m only fifteen,” Jackson said with a grin and placed his glass beside his name card. “Thanks for the drink, as well. One would almost think you’re used to this.”

“Derek’s a stubborn bastard at times, as well. The amount of fist fights I’ve had to break up…” Laura trailed off and shook her head. “I’m just glad it didn’t get that bad here.”

“This time,” Jackson said and threw a dark look at Mister Martin. “He’s lucky I don’t know how to hex someone.”

After he said that, Mister Martin started coughing and Jackson blinked. He had thought about choking the bastard with his own tongue. Mister Martin gasped for air and loosened his tie, while Melissa checked him over. Jackson looked away from the man and Mister Martin found he could breathe again, practically gulping in the air. His face slowly returned to a normal color and Jackson forgot that he just needed to think about something and it would happen. Sometimes, being a Fallen was fun.

Laura stared at him, before her eyes moved to Mister Martin. Jackson smiled at her and joined the others on the lawn, Lydia going up the stairs to check on her father. Stiles was staring at him and Jackson shrugged. He didn’t know what happened. He was talking to Laura at the time of Mister Martin choking on his own tongue. Stiles just cocked an eyebrow and Jackson lowered his eyes, feeling like a scorned child.

While the adults made sure Mister Martin was fine, Cora asked, “Who wants to go swimming?”

Stiles and Scott were almost stripped before the question left Cora’s mouth, running for the gate. Jackson laughed and shook his head, as Danny and Allison went to the pool house to undress. Jackson checked the towels and saw he would need to grab more. Danny snagged the light blue towel, grinning at Jackson, who narrowed his eyes at his best friend. Allison grabbed the white towel and smirked at Stiles.

Jackson shook his head and returned to the house, making his way to the linen closet. His mother and Missus Martin were in the kitchen, slicing up cakes. Jackson smiled at them and went down the hallway. He pressed against the closet door as Derek stepped out of the bathroom. Once the hallway was cleared, Jackson open the door and grabbed more towels than they probably needed.

In the pool house, Jackson placed the towels down on a chaise and stepped out, seeing that Lydia had joined them, along with Cora and Laura. The girls were sitting on the edge of the pool, somehow managing to look like the heat wasn’t bothering them. Scott and Danny were talking as they treaded water, dipping under every now and again.

Stiles turned to him. “Get in here, Jacks,” he said and Jackson raised an eyebrow. “The water’s great.”

Jackson smiled and shook his head, turning back into the pool house. He undressed, grateful that he wore his trunks under his jeans. He had wanted to swim before the others showed up, but swimming with them wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. He left the pool house and dove into the pool, coming up for air halfway down the length of it. The cool water certainly felt good against the heat of the sun.

“Here you go, kids,” Derek called and threw a beach ball at them. “Have fun.”

“You should join us,” Cora said.

Jackson dove under, not hearing Derek’s reply or excuse for not enjoying the water. He came up under the ball and tossed it at Stiles, who seemed to forget that his legs and arms could move independently of each other. Jackson laughed and shook his head, floating on his back and closing his eyes as the water rushed through his feathers, chilling everything. He opened his eyes when he felt something slap his abdomen and playfully pushed at Danny.

“Good to see that your back is feeling better,” Danny said and Jackson nodded, moving to tread water with him and Scott.

“Damn,” Scott said and winced, seeing the scars on Jackson’s back. “It really sucks to be an angelesque.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Allison said and sighed, kicking her feet in the water. “How bad was the manifestation, Jackson?”

Stiles flinched and Jackson nodded, gesturing at Stiles. “About that.” He swam over the edge, resting his arms on it and looked up at Allison. “You’ll want to die and that’s before they even come out.”

Allison groaned quietly, seeing the jagged scars on Jackson’s back. “I’m not looking forward to it,” she said softly.

Lydia patted her shoulder. “You don’t need to worry too much about it. As long as you’re at home when it happens or around people, you should survive. It’s usually those that go for a run in the preserve that die, because there’s no one around to help them.”

“And there will be a lot of blood,” Jackson warned, remembering how much sprayed from him every time he needed to release his wings. “ _A lot_ of blood.”

Allison shuddered at the idea, her wings flapping behind her. “This sucks.”

Jackson, Stiles and Danny nodded. Jackson’s wing stretched out and rested across Allison’s knees, trying to offer some comfort. He wished none of them would go through that pain, but that was part of being angelesque. The rest of them were lucky. Their horns and tails appeared and they were fine. They didn’t need to worry about anything else, except learning their spells. Sure, they could polish their horns, but that was for appearances only. Their wings needed to be oiled or they would damage the feathers.

“Your wings are so pretty, Jackson,” Cora said, watching as the rainbow gradient shimmered over the black feathers. “If it wasn’t for the pain of the wings coming through, I’d love to be angelesque, just for the wings.” She paused a moment and looked around at them. “Can any of you fly?”

Danny and Stiles glanced at each other and Jackson turned around, raising an eyebrow at them. “Have you even tried to fly?” he asked them and they shook their heads. “I recommend trying it.”

As he looked at their ethereal wings, he realized that they weren’t nearly as long as his. Stiles’ flight feathers stopped just below his butt, while Danny’s stopped at his thighs. None of them went down to the floor like Jackson’s did. When he thought about Deucalion, he realized that his mentor’s flight feathers also moved along the ground. Mason’s feathers stopped at his ankles, which was probably why he could hover.

Stiles grinned and shook his head, bopping the ball over to Scott. “Flying is more a Fallen and Disgraced thing. I think it’s because their pride is bigger than ours.” His grin turned into a smirk as he looked at Jackson. “Can you fly?”

“Of course,” Jackson said with a shrug, like it was completely normal. “I’m Disgraced, remember? And I don’t think anyone’s ego is as big as mine.”

Lydia looked him over. “Show us, then,” she said, seemingly bored.

“Show I’m Disgraced, that I can fly or that my ego is bigger than anyone else’s?” Jackson asked, matching her bored expression.

“The black wings prove you’re Disgraced,” Lydia stated with a smile. “Show us that you can fly.”

“Why would I do that?” Jackson inquired, sounding entirely innocent about the matter.

“I’ve never seen an angelesque fly before. I’m curious.” Lydia crossed her legs. “Unless you really can’t fly and only want to look good in front of these dorks.”

“Ladies,” Jackson said as he pushed away from the side of the pool. “I apologize.”

Diving under as the girls glanced at each other, Jackson used his wings to propel him through the water. He burst up and into the air, flapping his wings to remove the water from them and grinned when Lydia screamed, shielding her face from the eruption of water. She glared at him, which she lost when she saw him hovering at least ten feet off the ground. He gazed down at her, raising an eyebrow as his wings lazily flapped to keep him in one place.

“Jackson,” his mother shouted at him and Jackson turned to her, seeing that the rest of the party was staring at him. “Get down from there this instant!”

Floating down, Jackson landed behind Lydia and crouched. “Never challenge a Disgraced again,” he told her and pushed her into the pool, the others laughing.

Lydia came up, spluttering and coughing, the glare returning to her face. “You’ll pay for that, Whittemore,” she promised, her dark green goat horns shimmering into existence. She swam to the side of the pool and pulled herself up. “That was just childish.”

Jackson stood up and stretched his arms above his head. “So was challenging me,” he said and lowered his arms. “Besides, we’re children. May as well enjoy it before we’re forced to grow up.”

Cora grinned and dropped into the water, slapping the beach ball at Danny. Laura smiled and joined her sister. Jackson went to the pool house and checked his cell phone. He heard the gate open, hearing good natured teasing, cat calling and wolf whistling. With a frowning smile, Jackson looked over and froze when he saw Derek, striking a ridiculous pose in a pair of swim shorts, letting the teasing wash over him, before he dove into the pool.

Jackson blinked and shook his head, hoping his body looked that good when he was twenty-one. He went back to checking his phone, not having any new messages. He dropped it on his jeans and went back to the pool, watching as Derek got Scott into a headlock. He was surprised at how young Derek looked when he let loose and _smiled_. That was probably the most shocking part of that day.

Sitting beside Allison, Jackson watched as Cora got on Stiles’ shoulders and Laura got on Danny’s, trying to wrestle each other. Derek released Scott and turned to watch his sisters fight each other, laughing. It came as no surprise when Laura was the victor, which Allison decided was unfair and slipped into the pool, getting on Stiles’ shoulders. Lydia watched with a lazy smile on her face.

Allison lasted longer than Cora did, but she was eventually overthrown, Danny and Laura declaring their victory. Jackson laughed and shook his head, resting back on his hands, before Danny dropped Laura from his shoulders. Laura came up, shocked that Danny would ditch her like that, which only had the angelesque grinning.

“I don’t like sharing my victory,” he said with a proud tilt to his head.

Laura growled playfully and tackled him. Scott and Allison moved away from the dueling pair. Jackson glanced to his left when Derek sat on the edge of the pool, Cora slipping up on his right. She shook her head and wrung her hair, watching as Laura dominated Danny.

“I reckon you and me could take her down, Jacks,” Cora said with a smirk.

“Can anyone say no to a Hale when they offer to ride them?” Jackson asked and Cora’s eyes widened slightly, before she narrowed them and shoved him. Jackson laughed, his shoulder knocking against Derek’s. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“The answer is no,” Derek said as he straightened Jackson. “No, you can’t say no.”

Looking at Derek, Jackson pursed his lips as his wings moved in their cage and nodded. “Well, with that… Let’s go, Cora. We’ll kick her ass.” He slipped into the water.

Laura paused in torturing Danny to watch as Cora got on Jackson’s shoulders. “All right. Loser is challenging for the throne again,” she said and Danny stared at Jackson.

“You’re gonna lose, man,” Danny said as Laura got on his shoulders.

“We’ll see,” Jackson said with a smirk.

Jackson kept his face the same when he felt someone behind him. “It’s me. I’ll steady her,” Derek whispered.

Laura grinned, eyes flashing at the prospect of dominating her sister again. As the girls fought above them, Jackson raised his wings to keep his balance and to help steady Cora a little, as well. He gasped quietly when they brushed against Derek’s naked torso. His real wings moved within their cage and Jackson winced, feeling the muscles getting ready to split again.

“Fuck,” he said and dropped Cora, getting out of the pool, just as the first few drops of blood came out.

Unlike the other times, when he was able to get up to his bedroom, his wings ripped from his back again and Jackson screamed. He could hear the confusion of the others, wanting to know how his wings could manifest again, since they already were. He cried out breathlessly as his wings flapped, removing the blood from the feathers and then stretched to their full length, almost the entire length of the pool behind him.

When his wings settled, Jackson tried to stand up with the help of Stiles and Danny, seeing his blood running down his legs. Cora got the gate open for them and Jackson tried to move his feet, but his mind was entirely on keeping his wings behind him, so they wouldn’t flop forward and hurt his friends. His mother ran into the house, likely to set up his bed for him.

Stiles and Danny lifted him when they came to the stairs and Jackson cried as his shoulders were forced to move. He felt more of his blood running down his legs and he knew his mother would be angry about the mess he was leaving behind. On the plus side, at least he didn’t ruin his bedroom. He might have scarred the others and probably ruined the pool water for the rest of the party.

How he was still conscious was unknown to Jackson. The first thing he did after screaming was pass out for the next twelve hours. He was certain that would be the routine of his wings manifesting every time. He was finally inside and his feet slipped over the smooth tiles as his blood coated his feet. His fingers grasped at the air uselessly as he tried to get upright properly.

Upstairs, his mother stood outside his bedroom, eyes filled with worry as Jackson was carried, half-conscious into his room and laid on his bed. “I’ve called Doctor Deaton. He should be here soon. Thank you, boys,” she said to Stiles and Danny, going to hug them and freezing when she saw they were covered in her son’s blood. “Feel free to use the showers.”

“Mom,” Jackson gasped and turned his head. His mother knelt beside his bed, keeping an eye on the wings in case they flopped suddenly. “Tell…them…sorry?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” She petted his hair for a moment and stood up. “Tomorrow, you can tell me what caused this one. You shouldn’t be releasing this often.”

Jackson barely nodded as his eyes closed and he passed out. He was blissfully unaware of his mother leaving the room and his wings flopping. Unaware of Alan Deaton coming in and injecting him with a potion to help speed up the healing process, while Derek stood behind him, watching for a moment, before he left the bedroom and dried off. He was unaware of the party basically dying down, despite the fact the guests remained. They were mostly curious about the unconscious boy upstairs, wondering how an angelesque could have multiple wing manifestations.

* * *

Half-opening his eyes, Jackson moaned quietly, remembering the feel of Derek’s naked torso against his wings. He smiled, grinding against the chainmail bedcover and closing his eyes again. The sensation of Derek’s skin against his wings sent a tingle down his spine, starting from his wings and straight to his cock. He buried his face into his pillow, muffling another moan as his hips moved faster. The water had felt nice running over his feathers, but the warmth of Derek had been far better.

Blinking, Jackson frowned. Why was he thinking about that? His wings had manifested in front of a dozen or more witnesses – again. Everyone would have questions and he was thinking about how good Derek had felt at his back, the way his skin felt against his feathers. He flapped his wings, hearing the familiar sparking of his feathers on metal. His wings were out and he was fantasizing about a man that probably had more than enough suitors without worrying about some kid trying to win him over.

Shaking his head, Jackson went to his bathroom and got the cold water going. He slipped under the spray, keeping his swim trunks on, grateful when his erection died off quickly. The stinging of the water entering the open wounds helped a lot, too. Once he was over that little hiccup, he added hot water and washed his blood from his body, removing the trunks. He wrapped a towel around his hips and frowned when felt someone else in his bedroom.

Sword appearing in his hand, Jackson stepped out of the bathroom and glared at the person in his bedroom. He blinked and the sword disappeared as Danny was there, staring at the chainmail bedcover. Danny raised his head and fixed Jackson with an accusatory stare. Jackson crossed his arms and waited for Danny to say what he was thinking.

“You aren’t Disgraced, are you?” Danny asked, the gleam in his eye changing. He seemed to pity Jackson. “You’re Fallen, aren’t you? And don’t lie to me, Jackson. I’ll know if you are. Your wings already manifested. There was no reason for them to manifest yesterday. The only reason being if you’re a Fallen and you needed to release them.”

Jackson lowered his eyes, trying to think of something to say. What could he say? He had lied to his best friend for over a year about his angelesque status. Should he apologize and hope that covered it? Raising his eyes, he gauged Danny’s likeliest reaction to his apology. Danny would probably burst into tears and try to hug him, which would end badly for him. It was bad enough that Stiles knew what he was.

“Do you really want to know?” Jackson asked instead, gazing at Danny steadily. “Do you want to see my halo and figure out why I’ve been disappearing at odd times? Do you really want to know what your best friend does for money? Or would you prefer to live under the delusion that I’m just Disgraced?”

Danny’s eyes widened as he stared at Jackson. “So you’re already registered?” he whispered and stepped around the bed. Jackson moved away from him, still unsure how Danny was going to react. “You’re fifteen and already a registered Fallen? Jacks, _why_ didn’t you tell me?”

“I was registered when I was fourteen,” Jackson corrected and Danny’s wings drooped. Jackson wasn’t sure if that was disappointment or sadness. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine, Danny. _Do_ you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Danny said, eyes hardening. “I think I have a right to know!”

“Fine. I presented as a Fallen a week before high school started. Four years early, I know. I went away to receive my training, but my instinct was better than my mentor expected. I received my first contract, completed it and received another. When I returned to school, I became registered. Since then, I’ve been accepting contracts.” Jackson panted slightly, trying to get it all out as quickly as possible. “I didn’t tell you, because I wasn’t sure how you would react to me being Fallen. After what you said during my ‘surprise’ welcome home party, I decided it was best to lie about what I really was.”

Danny blinked and went silent, processing all the information that was just thrown at him. After a few moments, he took a deep breath. “You’re my best friend, Jackson,” he said, eyes soft and a smile gracing his face. “I’d never abandon you just because you murder people for money.”

“A lot of money.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Just because you murder people for a lot of money,” he corrected and shook his head. “I love you and your grace isn’t going to change that. Though, I’ve heard that Fallens don’t get grace poisoning.” He glared.

Jackson nodded, remembering when Danny was out of school for the last week of middle school. He hadn’t thought much about it, as he saw Danny the first week of summer break. “At least your grace poisoning didn’t kill you,” he said with a shrug.

“Now,” Danny said, crossing his arms. “Show me your halo.”

Jackson straightened and brought his halo into reality. Danny stared at it, eyes wide, moving with the flames that surrounded the thorns and danced through them. Jackson swallowed and it vanished, feeling exposed, despite being in a towel. His wings moved around his body, hugging and hiding him at the same time. He was still waiting for Danny to abandon him. Saying he was fine with his best friend being a murderer was one thing. Seeing that he actually was, was something entirely different.

“I didn’t expect a Fallen’s halo to be… I mean, I knew it was a crown of thorns… But the flames…” Danny blinked and shook his head, clearly trying to get the wires to connect again. “It’s beautiful, Jacks. I know you’re scared of how others will treat you, being a Fallen and all. But _I’m_ not the others. Don’t ever shut me out again or I will make you regret it.”

Jackson frowned and went to Danny, hugging him tightly and raising his wings so Danny could return it. He _knew_ he could trust Danny. How could his parents ever doubt someone like Danny? He would have been the only one Jackson told he was adopted, as well. If it wasn’t so glaringly obvious.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Danny returned the hug.

“It’s all right,” Danny said and stepped back, watching as Jackson’s wings settled behind him. “Maybe you could tell me why your wings manifested again.”

“I don’t know why,” Jackson said as he went to his closet. “Maybe it was close proximity to everyone in the pool that sent my hormones insane.”

“Or maybe it was because your wings felt up Derek Hale,” Danny said with a shrug.

Jackson pulled on his underwear and stared at Danny. “Dan, I love you and all, especially as you’ve just accepted my… Let’s call them ‘quirks,’ but Derek’s twenty-one.”

“And smoking hot.” Danny closed his eyes and groaned. “I was so glad the pool water was cold yesterday,” he said as he opened his eyes. “Did you _see_ his package?”

“Oh my god,” Jackson muttered and pulled on his jeans, closing the closet. “I’m not having this conversation about some guy with my gay best friend. I’ll admit he’s handsome and he’s a decent fighter. Aside from that, no. I didn’t notice anything about him last night.”

Danny sat on the bed, after moving the cover. “Well, when your wings manifested, you peacocked for all of us. Your wings only manifested after your ethereal ones touched up Derek.”

Jackson sighed and sat on his metal chair, hearing his feathers tearing up his carpet. “Danny, I’m _fifteen_. I’m almost certain that just _thinking_ of being with Derek will get him arrested. Besides, I’ve got other things to think about.”

“Like what? What he looks like…naked…?”

“Oh god, Danny! Put a towel over it!” Jackson threw his towel at Danny. “Did you want some time alone with that thought?”

“Not on this torture bed,” Danny said as he sat up. “How do you sleep on this thing?”

“It’s far more comfortable than the floor,” Jackson answered with a shrug. “And did you forget the part when you heard and saw I’m a Fallen? I’ve got murders to think about.”

“That just killed my boner.” Danny looked at the towel for a moment. “What’s it like, killing someone?”

“I don’t know.” Jackson watched Danny’s face, seeing that he was definitely curious. “I’m a Fallen, so I don’t feel anything from it. Sometimes, I can barely tell the difference between friend and foe.”

“I’ve noticed,” Danny muttered and looked up. “How many have—?”

Jackson shook his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said and looked at his bedroom door. “Something wrong, Mom?” he called.

“You have another visitor,” his mother answered and opened the door. Standing behind her was Derek. “Are you up for it?”

“Why did that sound suggestive?” Jackson asked, his wings rising as he glared at his mother.

“It wasn’t, sweetheart. I know you and Danny probably have a long day of doing nothing planned, but would you like another visitor?”

Jackson glanced at Danny and smirked. “Sure. We’ll keep the door open, too.”

Derek entered the bedroom, after giving Jackson’s mother a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, you know. Like my entire back is on fire and that I have two _gaping holes_ back there. Aside from that, I’m good. The drugs Doc Deaton gives me are a fucking godsend.” Jackson smiled and then gestured at Danny. “This is Danny, my best friend.”

“Hi,” Danny said, the towel suddenly balled up in his lap.

Jackson raised an eyebrow and then looked at Derek. He was in his usual jeans, Henley, boots and leather jacket. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, which gave his face a mature look. Jackson shook his head. “Danny is great at debate, believe or not,” he said and laughed as Danny blushed.

“I’m sure he is,” Derek with a slight smile.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Jackson asked, fighting to keep his wings still behind him. They kept trying to stretch and he wasn’t about to peacock in front of anyone.

“Oh,” Derek said and cleared his throat, glancing at Jackson’s wings. “My Mom wanted you have these.” He handed Jackson a box, who opened it and saw three vials in there. “They’re family recipes, to help aid the healing process,” he explained and crossed his arms.

“Do they work?” Jackson asked, feeling hopeful that he could retract his wings sooner than a week. Hopefully before Alan had to oil them.

“One of my ancestors was an angelesque. His journal swore by those recipes.” Derek cleared his throat, eyes dropping to the longer flight feathers that were tearing up the carpet. “We haven’t had an angelesque in the family since him, so I can’t say if they do or not. The two clear ones you drink and the yellow one should be applied to the wounds.”

“In any order?” Jackson inquired as he stood up, looking at the two vials with clear liquid in them.

“Just the clear ones first and then the yellow,” Derek answered.

Danny stood up. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said as he inched around the bed.

“No, you don’t,” Jackson said and glared at him. “You’re going to apply this yellow one to my wounds.”

“I can, if you want,” Derek offered.

Jackson gave him a small smile. “I’d prefer if another angelesque did it.”

Derek appeared hurt for a moment, until the words sank in. He nodded. “Of course. It’s good to see you up and walking around,” he said and glanced at Danny. “It was nice to see you again, Danny.”

The moment Derek was out of the room, Danny looked at Jackson. “Now I _really_ need to use the bathroom!”

“Dan—” Jackson broke off into a sigh when Danny ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. “Just make sure you clean up,” he said and drank the liquids in the vials. They were more floral than he was expecting and they warmed his stomach, before spreading out over his body. The pain disappeared from his shoulders entirely and he blinked. “Damn. His ancestor is good.” Once they started training, he would need to get the recipes from Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it. A word to the sponsors:
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello! I was thinking of not putting in the camera, just to see how many would realize it was him. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. I'll know for next time, though. Mark my words, I will have people guessing! And yes, a total creeper. As for the angel lore, I'm going by what I was told in Sunday school and throwing in a little pizzazz for dramatic reasons. Supernatural didn't get it...totally wrong, but they went their direction and I'm going mine. As for the Jackson forgetting Derek's name... I kinda wrote this story out of order. The first chapter was meant to be like chapter 12, until I decided it was a good place to start. After that, I kind of just ran with it. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Guest1701: I know it wasn't cool. That's why I did. I love to make you squirm as you wait for the next update! *insert evil generic laughter here* Thanks for the comment! As for your questions... They're sort of answered later on. Hope you enjoyed this one and can't wait to here from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! Also, curse you, camera! Hope you enjoyed this one!
> 
> notreallyme: Welcome back! Thank you for the comment. The explosion wasn't really the main focus. Deucalion lives in a small town and he can't fully hide his wings, so people tend to speak about them. We'll just say that it was an anonymous tip. Also, you are very welcomed! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Sexy training times are coming, I swear! Thank you for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well!
> 
> To those...that have read this story and wish to remain nameless, thank you for reading it!
> 
> As my State has currently gone into lockdown again, I may update this story a little sooner than usual. Maybe.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	8. The Problem of Training

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Derek was free Tuesdays and Thursdays during summer break. Apparently, most of the people he trained preferred to enjoy their summer break. Jackson showed up at midday on Tuesday, ready to get back into shape. He felt like his wings releasing made him feel fat and lazy. He smiled as Derek stepped out of the house, as though he was waiting for Jackson.

Glancing at the cars, Jackson bit the inside of his lower lip. Derek didn’t seem to think that anything would happen to them as he stood across from Jackson, arms crossed. Returning his eyes to the demonesque, Jackson was almost certain the shirt he wore was tighter than normal. Or maybe it was the jeans that were tighter. Something on Derek was tighter than normal. Danny’s words ran through his head and Jackson shoved them away.

“I got a proposal for you, Mentor Hale,” Jackson said as his wings flapped behind him lazily. “When we spar, if I win, you give me the recipe of your ancestor.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “And what do I get if I win?”

Answers flashed through Jackson’s head and he was going to kill Danny for the suggestions. “What do you want?”

Derek smirked and Jackson felt his heart sink. “If I win, you answer three questions honestly.”

Jackson blinked and tilted his head. That didn’t sound too difficult, depending on the questions. “Okay,” he agreed with a smile.

“We’ll spar on Thursday,” Derek said as he dropped his arms. “Show me your stance.”

Jackson’s sword materialized beside his hip. Derek stared at it and Jackson shrugged. “This is my stance,” he said and Derek frowned. “Unless there’s something for me to attack, I just stand here and wait.”

Derek nodded and created five strawmen. “How would you work through them?” His eyes widened as the strawmen fell to pieces before he finished asking the question.

Jackson stood in his relaxed position, sword hovering by his hip. “Like that,” he answered.

The busted strawmen disappeared and five more appeared. “Go through it slowly. I need to see where you think you need to improve.”

Jackson nodded and gripped his sword. Almost as though he was walking, he decapitated the strawman on his far right, kicking the one beside it in the same motion, before he turned around and sliced his sword along the torso. He ducked down, essentially cutting out the legs of the middle strawman and running his sword through the last two, ripping out through their chests.

Standing back, the sword hovered by his hip as he awaited Derek’s assessment of his technique and skill. The demonesque mostly stared at him, face blank. Derek’s eyes dropped to the strawmen and then back to Jackson, who was trying his hardest not to look nervous. He had only done what his instinct told him to, as that had been the fastest, cleanest and less torturous way to kill the victims.

Derek exhaled and frowned, looking between Jackson and the strawmen. “Why do you think you need improvement? Your technique is a little sloppy, but that could be because you went slow for me. Your instinct is to move through quickly, remove the threat as quickly as possible.” The strawmen reappeared. “Do it again, regular speed.”

Jackson nodded and went through the motions again, standing back after a few seconds. Derek had watched every movement of his and then stared at him, shaking his head. Jackson wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe he was sloppier when he was quicker. Jackson didn’t feel as though he had done anything worse than when he did it slowly.

“God, you’re good,” Derek muttered. He sighed and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you expect from me, Jackson. When moving as you would on a battlefield, your technique is flawless. When did you learn the skills to move like that?”

Jackson blinked. “That was instinct,” he answered.

“Fuck, I wish Scott had your instinct,” Derek said. “There’s nothing I can teach you that you don’t already know. Your instinct and skills are one. If you want to spar, I can be your partner if you want to challenge yourself. Aside from that…you’re perfect.”

Jackson felt his wings stretch out at the compliment and quickly pulled them back. He nodded at Derek and the strawmen disappeared. “In that case, guess I’ll see you on Thursday, then,” he said as his sword vanished from his side.

Derek cleaned up the straw. “Can you arrive half an hour earlier? There’s someone I think I need help with. He’s a bit of a…walking catastrophe with his sword. I can’t seem to get it through his head where he’s going wrong.”

Jackson frowned and nodded. “What’s the problem with him?”

“His form,” Derek answered as he stood beside Jackson. “He has a sword similar to yours, so I’m hoping you can help him with his stance.”

Jackson shrugged. “I can try. My stance and form came from instinct. If they don’t have that, it’ll be difficult to teach it,” he said and glanced at Derek. “Are you trying to eat up that half hour so I have to pay you?”

“That,” Derek began and smirked at Jackson. “Or I enjoy your company.” Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the only ‘student’ of mine that actually knows what they’re doing. Scott is terrified he’s going to hurt me with his sword. That kid I mentioned earlier apparently couldn’t attack straight if his life depended on it, without someone to hold him up.”

Jackson chuckled. Derek sounded like Deucalion when it came to his students. “Why take any on to train if you weren’t prepared for the idiots?” he asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re great when they let go of their insecurities,” Derek said and held his hands up, which Jackson refused to look at them. “It’s a matter of getting them to do that, though.” He sighed and tilted his head back. “You would’ve been a dream to train.”

“My mentor over east didn’t think so. It took me a while to learn his lessons, until I just let instinct take over. There’s a reason it took three months. God, that’s embarrassing.” Jackson shook his head. “Hand-to-hand combat took the longest.”

“Three months? It took three months for you to not need a mentor anymore?” Derek sighed and crossed his arms. “I’ve been training Scott for over a year and he’s nowhere near your level. Three months sounds really good.” He glanced at Jackson. “How’s your magic?”

Jackson turned to the side, standing in front of Derek. “Wanna find out?” he asked, eyes flashing playfully. “I’m gonna make you earn that eighty bucks, Hale.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging his lips as his hands rested flat against Jackson’s shoulders. A blast of air shot from his hands, counteracted by a strong flap from Jackson’s wings. Jackson jumped back, landing lightly, silver flames appearing in his hands. Black flames extended from Derek’s right hand, while black sand swirled in his left. Jackson had never seen such beautiful magic before.

Jackson tilted his head, his flames jumping in front of him, becoming circles around him. His eyes focused on the sand in Derek’s hand and the demonesque’s eyes widened as the sand became black glass. Jackson smirked, bringing his hands above his head. The circles connected and began morphing taking on the shape of an eagle that screeched as it swooped down at Derek, who cracked the whip and wrapped it around the neck of the eagle.

Blinking, Jackson watched as he beheaded the bird and recalled the flames back to him. Derek glanced at the black glass in his hand, which hovered and fired Jackson. Eyes flashing silver for half a moment, the glass turned into sand again, becoming silver as Jackson gathered it in his hand. Jackson closed his hand and the sand turned to ice, thin discs that were thrown at Derek, who was surprisingly precise with his whip. The heat of the flames melted the ice and Derek collected it in his hand.

The black water was dropped and Jackson frowned, seeing Derek’s tail materialize behind him, it curled around his leg as his whip did. Derek’s eyes flashed black and Jackson stood his ground, eyes narrowing as he stopped the water from rising behind him. The silver flames dove into the ground and steam rose from the leaflitter, Derek growling as his tail unwound from his leg, swaying behind him. The sunlight glinted off the silver tail, which was distracting to Jackson. Every so often, there was a flash of light when the tail moved.

Jackson called the flames back to his hands and straightened his shoulders. The flames moved up his arms and onto his wings, which had Derek’s eyes widening as the Fallen hovered. The flames on his wings pulsed and increased in heat. Jackson closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inhaling deeply. When he opened his eyes and leveled his head, he smirked down at Derek, his wings snapping around in front of him. The flames were fired, almost like bullets from the feathers. Derek cursed and dodged them, the soil where the flames touched turned to glass in an instant.

Dropping to the ground, Jackson got a knee in front of Derek, the smirk still in place. “I win,” he said.

Derek raised his head, grinning. Black flames appearing in front of him made Jackson fall back onto his ass. Derek lunged and Jackson got a foot to the demonesque’s stomach, flipping him over and landing on top of him. He laughed, which was cut short when Derek easily overpowered him. He may have forgotten that he was only fifteen and his muscles were still developing.

For the first time in his life, Jackson had no problem rolling around in the leaflitter. As much as he wanted to continue wrestling with Derek, he didn’t have the strength to flip him again. He caught his breath, grinning up at Derek, which froze when he realized his wings had wrapped around Derek. His wings were pulling Derek down on top of him, forcing the demonesque down. Swallowing, Jackson forced his wings to flop before Derek noticed and mentioned it.

“You only won because you’re bigger,” Jackson said as Derek smirked and stood up, offering his hand. Jackson accepted it, his wings flapping behind him.

“Your wings are beautiful,” Derek said as he pulled his hand back.

Jackson shrugged and pulled them behind him, hiding them as much as possible, crossing his arms over his chest. “So is your tail,” he said and nodded at the silver tail wrapped around Derek’s left thigh. The tip was interesting, reminding Jackson of a flame.

Derek glanced at the tail and shrugged, crossing his arms as well. “Guess we’re both a little self-conscious about our attachments,” he said as his tail disappeared.

With the tail gone, Jackson knew he should look away from the thigh; knew he should finally look back at Derek’s face. He didn’t, though. He continued to stare at the strong thigh that was wrapped with tight denim. A shiver ran down his spine, except there was no breeze. He stepped back from Derek, wishing his phone would vibrate and give him something to do that wasn’t staring at a demonesque that was too old for him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” His wings moved under his skin and Jackson stepped further from Derek. He wasn’t going through that again. Thankfully, he had been too busy trying to best Derek to realize how good the demonesque felt atop him, how good he smelled, sweat and leather, along with a heat from his black flames. “Fine,” he added and finally turned his head, looking towards the house.

“Did I say something wrong? I know you don’t like your wings, because they prove you’re adopted. I just wanted you to know that they’re beautiful,” Derek said softly.

Jackson frowned at him, surprised by the gentleness of the words. For a brief moment, he thought about showing his halo, just to prove another reason why he didn’t like his wings and why hid them as much as possible. “I should go. I’ll help you with that kid on Thursday,” he said, stepping further from Derek, until there was at least six feet between them. “See ya then, Hale.”

Derek nodded as Jackson jumped up, wings flapping behind him. Closing his eyes, Jackson shook his head. He was such an idiot. If Danny hadn’t mentioned how good Derek looked, Jackson wouldn’t have noticed it. He would have continued to admire Derek, sure, but not see him as a potential partner. Opening his eyes, he glared ahead. That’s all it was. He was a little confused because of what Danny said. It didn’t matter that Derek challenged him in ways no one else could.

At that moment, his phone chimed and vibrated in his back pocket. Of course it would pick while he was flying to give him a notification. He landed on the roof of the house and pulled out his phone. He opened the contract and blinked at it. He wasn’t asked to kill someone, but to destroy a building. How in the hell was he meant to destroy a building?

Slipping into his bedroom, Jackson showered and dressed, grabbing his go bag. He ordered a plane ticket to New York and went downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch. “I’ll be in New York for a couple of days,” he said and she looked up, blinking at him. “Contract. Could you tell Derek that I probably won’t make it to training on Thursday?”

His mother frowned and nodded, before she stepped up to him and hugged him tightly. “Have a safe trip,” she said and smiled. Jackson nodded and ordered an Uber.

\--

Turned out that destroying a building was easier than he thought. As the nightlife died down slightly, as New York City was one that barely slept, he stared at the electronics company skyscraper. He knew there were people in there, which resulted in him calling in a bomb threat to the police station. The moment the workers evacuated the building, Jackson’s left hand twitched. A black feather with a red sheen appeared between his fingers and he tilted his head, throwing it at the building. It lodged in the mortar and he snapped his fingers, eyes widening as the red streaked up the building like veins. They pulsed and exploded, bringing down the building. He had no idea who wanted a building destroyed, but he knew what the red feathers did.

\--

On Thursday, Jackson flew towards the Hale manor. He landed on the roof and stared down at the ground. Derek was working with the kid that kept giving Jackson a hard time for being Disgraced. He watched the way Derek kept trying to tell the kid how to hold himself when he had his sword in hand. The kid apparently didn’t understand it, until Derek was forced to touch him and change his stance. Jackson felt his halo materialize and the flames around his halo blazed, to the point that the other two looked up towards him as the halo vanished.

Crossing his arms, Jackson didn’t move and continued to watch them. The kid was shielding his eyes, as though there was someone else in Beacon Hills with black wings. Derek said nothing as he went on with the lesson, bringing his sword into reality and moving slowly, trying to teach the kid how to defend himself. Jackson walked along the roof and stepped off, floating down to the ground. The kid used his appearance as an excuse to get a cut on his arm.

“Shit,” Derek muttered, his sword vanishing. “Jackson, can you get the first aid kit from inside?” he asked as the kid cradled his arm, glaring at Jackson, like it was his fault.

Jackson turned around and entered the house, realizing he had no idea where the first aid kit was. He searched the first floor and found Laura in the living room. She had a file on her lap, but the TV had her attention more than that did. “First aid kit?” Jackson asked and Laura blinked, glancing at him.

“In the kitchen, on top of the fridge. Derek cut him again, huh?”

“It’s happened more than once?” Jackson asked, wrinkling his nose. He remembered how much Deucalion’s whip staff had hurt. He worked hard to make sure he didn’t feel that pain again.

“Oh yeah. I think he likes the way Derek babies him.” Laura shuddered.

Jackson raised an eyebrow and shook his head, going into the kitchen. He grabbed the first aid kit and left the house, tossing it to Derek. He watched as Derek was exceptionally tender with the kid, as though he was some kind of crystal vase. When Derek’s eyes were fixed on the small cut, the kid’s eyes flashed over to Jackson and he smirked. Jackson kept his anger under control. Derek wasn’t his and that kid was the reason why Jackson wasn’t pursuing him.

Derek finished bandaging the arm and stood back. He tossed the kit back to Jackson. “Thanks,” he said with a smile, which had the kid straightening his arm and hissing slightly. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit,” the kid said with a slight pout. “I can continue with the lesson, though.”

Derek smiled and nodded, as though the kid was taking some kind of big risk. “I asked Jackson to join us, because he uses a weapon similar to yours. I want you to watch Jackson’s form.”

Jackson’s wings vanished and his sword appeared by his right hip. He handed the kit to the kid and stood opposite of Derek, gazing at him with cold eyes. He knew it wasn’t Derek’s fault that he had suitors panting after him, but that didn’t stop his anger from pulsing through him like it was a parasite. Derek frowned at him and gestured for Jackson to take his sword.

The kid watched them and Jackson beckoned Derek to attack him. Derek frowned, but rushed at Jackson, who caught his wrist and punched his jaw. The kid’s eyes widened as Derek fell to a knee in front of Jackson, working his jaw. Derek glared up at him and Jackson crossed his arms, wishing it was the kid he was beating the shit out of, as that was what he wanted.

Derek stood up, backing away a few feet. “With your weapon this time,” he ordered and Jackson cocked his head to the side.

Gripping the handle of his sword, Jackson stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands by his sides. Derek sighed and straightened. “It’s a stance. _Chodź do mnie, Hale_.”

Derek frowned, confused on the last line. “What the hell has gotten into you, Jackson?” he demanded. “Take a fighting stance. I brought you here for educational purposes. Put your differences aside and help me teach Matt.”

Jackson glared at the one named Matt. He finally had a name for the little puke. Matt was watching them, wide-eyed and appearing far more innocent than he actually was. Jackson had never wanted to challenge someone as badly as he did when he saw that expression on Matt’s face. He was trying to win Derek over that way? Derek needed someone that knew what they were doing and could be a benefit to him and his family.

“ _On jest mój_ ,” he said to Matt, who blinked at him. “ _Podejdź do niego ponownie, a posmakujesz mojej stali w zaświatach_.”

While Matt continued to stare at him with confusion, Jackson straightened his shoulders and raised his sword in a basic, simple stance. Any idiot could copy it. Derek relaxed his shoulders and gave Jackson a small smile, grateful that he was finally doing what he was meant to. Matt shook his head and looked at Jackson as Derek approached him, slowly.

“See how he sets his feet? He’s on his toes, which means he can turn any direction,” Derek explained, sword disappearing from his hand. He placed his hands on Jackson’s hips. “His hips are square, which means his balance is perfect. His spine is straight.” He placed his hands on Jackson’s shoulders. “Shoulders are straight and relaxed. He’s ready for an attack for any direction, even behind him.” He ran a hand down Jackson’s arm. “Every part of your body is a weapon.”

Matt growled, his horns and tail coming out as he watched the way Derek touched Jackson. He called forth his sword, dropping the kit. Jackson kept his eyes forward, waiting for an attack and ignoring the way Derek touched him. If he gave into it, he knew his wings would release again and he wasn’t doing that in front of Matt. Chances were, he already knew about the Fourth of July incident.

“As he’s angelesque,” Derek continued, placing a hand on Jackson’s abdomen. “His core is strong, ready to jump back and fly, should he need to gain some distance from his enemy.” He stepped back and touched the arm that held the sword. “See how his elbow is in line with his shoulder? Everything is perfect, straight and relaxed.”

Matt nodded, a slight pout on his face as he copied Jackson’s stance. “Like this?”

Derek moved to Matt, lowering the elbow of the arm with the sword and straightened his shoulders. “You’ll get the hang of it the more often you do it. This is the perfect stance for facing a challenger.” He glanced at Jackson from the corner of his eyes. “It lets you see exactly what your opponent will do. Now, watch Jackson.”

Looking at Derek, Jackson raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what he was meant to do after that. Derek frowned at him and Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes. He pulled his arm back a little, feeling Derek and Matt watching him closely as showed Matt three simple moves with his sword, which was similar to Jackson’s. It looked a little heavier and broader, but Matt was showing great dexterity by using it one-handed. After showing a downward slash, an upward slash and a horizontal slash, Jackson stood back, sword hovering by his hip.

Derek stood in front of Matt, sword in his hand, while Matt practiced the swings. Jackson wasn’t sure how often they got to that. It didn’t seem like it was often enough, as he could tell that Matt was getting tired as he repeated the motions, until Derek was satisfied. That seemed to take up the last part of the lesson, with Derek smiling at Matt, as though he had made massive strides in his stance. He was still flat-footed, his shoulders kept going out of line, as did his hips.

Once Matt’s mother picked him up and paid Derek, the demonesque waved as they left and then turned his attention to Jackson. “What the fuck was half of that?” he demanded.

Jackson’s sword vanished and he shrugged. “Nothing,” he said turning around and heading away from the house.

“Get back here, Whittemore,” Derek snapped and Jackson stopped, glaring over his shoulder. “Your lesson is starting now. I’m gonna work that anger out of you. Let’s go.”

Jackson turned around and tilted his head. He shrugged and went over to Derek, sword appearing by his right hip, while Derek’s appeared by his left thigh. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, watching Derek. He couldn’t attack first, even if he wanted to. Derek had to know that he was all about defense, with the intent to kill. Derek sighed and grabbed his sword, rushing Jackson, who ducked and weaved the attacks.

“Take this seriously, Whittemore,” Derek snarled, his fist meeting Jackson’s abdomen, who gasped.

Jackson stepped back, rubbing the area Derek just attacked and frowned at him. Derek was the first one to land an attack on him since Deucalion. Derek rolled his shoulders as he stepped back, a glare on his face and Jackson matched it, gripping his sword. He had been forced to work through worse pain from Deucalion and Derek had barely used any strength in the punch.

“Like how you are? You barely touched me with that punch,” he said and raised an eyebrow.

“I doubt your young body could handle me being serious,” Derek taunted and Jackson glared.

“Bring it on, Hale.”

Their swords clashed and they broke apart, neither yielding. They met in the center of the yard again, sparks flying from black and silver swords. Both tried to muscle their way past the other. Even though Derek was older and more developed, he couldn’t find a way to overpower Jackson and force him to submit. Jackson knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of beating someone like Derek, who practically lived and breathed like a demonesque Fallen. Perhaps that’s where the attraction came from.

They broke apart again and watched the other. Derek rushed him and Jackson turned his sword around, using the blunt edge against Derek’s wrist, forcing his sword down into the ground. He crouched on Derek’s sword, staring into his eyes, surprised they were such a pretty green. Derek’s eyes moved from his face to where he was crouching, taking no damage. Jackson assumed Derek didn’t realize angelesques that could fly were feather light when it was needed.

Jackson placed his sword against Derek’s throat. “This is what happens when neither of us is serious,” he said and stepped off Derek’s sword, keeping his to the demonesque’s throat. “You lose.”

Derek stared at Jackson for a moment, before a smirk crossed his face. “Did I, though?”

Jackson frowned and went to step back, only to trip over something. His eyes widened when he saw a whip in Derek’s hand, the tail around his ankles. How did he not feel that? How did he not see that? He knew how he missed it, as he hadn’t taken his eyes from Derek’s face. Deucalion’s words ran through his mind, almost taunting him. _There will be surprises._ He should have known Derek would have a backup something.

Derek stood over him, sword pointed to his throat and a smirk on his lips. “I thought Disgraced were better than this,” he said and Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

Growling, Jackson cut the leather around his ankles and pushed up, his feet connecting with Derek’s chest hard enough to shove him back several feet. He was tired of being referred to as a Disgraced. It was just another reminder that he couldn’t be what he was born as. He wasn’t the demonesque that his biological parents thought he would be. He wasn’t the demonesque his adoptive parents thought he would be. He was a freak with the grace of an archangel that was bent on cleansing the world through flames and murder.

Derek cracked his whip, his stigma repairing it almost instantly and he grinned at Jackson, who straightened his shoulders. He kept the glare on his face, wanting Derek to believe he was losing himself to his anger. He almost was, but there was no way he was going to slip so much that Derek saw his halo. After what happened when he was on the roof, he wasn’t going to let his anger rule him like that ever again.

Jackson rolled his wrist, watching Derek’s breathing, watching the way he held himself, the way his weapons floated by his thighs as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it aside. The cracking whip almost echoed around the preserve and Jackson felt his spine straighten. He had seen how good Derek was with his fire whip. He could only imagine an actual whip would be just as deadly.

As he stared at the whip, Jackson realized that Derek had the perfect weapons. He could attack from a distance, while killing those that got too close. Blinking up at the demonesque, Jackson inhaled deeply and got into his usual stance. Derek tilted his head slightly, surprised that he was waiting for the attack. Jackson wondered when Derek was going to figure it out. He would only ever attack in defense of himself or others.

Derek ran his eyes over his stance, taking in the perfect lines of his young frame. Jackson felt his toes curl in his shoes, keeping his eyes on Derek’s body. He was waiting for a different inhale, a twitch to one side, the grip to tighten on one of the weapons. Derek was waiting for the same thing with him and Jackson was almost grateful to disappoint him.

Derek’s right shoulder tensed and Jackson’s right arm twitched, cutting the leather of the whip. Derek recalled it and it repaired. They stared at each other, realizing that they were in a stalemate. Both knew the other couldn’t land an attack. They could fight for hours and get nowhere, which just infuriated Jackson. He was better than that. Somehow, he wasn’t good enough to beat Derek and had to settle for a stalemate.

“Why don’t you attack?” Derek asked, grip tightening on his sword. “You never attack first, even though if you did, you could win.”

“I don’t see you as a mentor,” Jackson said, tensing his shoulders. He only attacked Deucalion after he had been beaten down. Derek had yet to beat him down properly, cause him actual pain. He wasn’t a threat to anyone around. “I have no reason to be half-serious with you, because I know you won’t hurt me.”

Derek smirked, whip cracking. Jackson winced as it split the skin on his right shoulder. He growled and rushed Derek, dodging his whip. Their swords collided and Jackson’s knee met Derek’s ribs. The demonesque snarled and Jackson lifted his leg to block Derek’s kick to his knee. His left hand grabbed Derek’s right wrist, realizing how awkward it was that Derek used his left hand for his sword. He was going to assume that’s why Derek did it.

Derek growled deep in his chest and shoved Jackson back, who landed lightly on his feet. The whip cracked again and Jackson spun to the side, glaring when the tail wrapped around his right wrist. He dropped the sword, cutting the leather. Derek raised an eyebrow as Jackson changed his stance. It was the same as it was before, except his left was his attacking side.

Jackson rushed Derek again, their swords meeting once more, but his right hand gripped his second sword. Derek cried out as his wrist was pierced and stared at the second sword, eyes wide. “What, you think you’re the only one that can dual-wield, Hale?” He smirked and flipped Derek over his shoulder, his left sword going through Derek’s left shoulder. “Always expect surprises,” he murmured into Derek’s ear, nuzzling under it.

Standing up, Jackson removed his swords from the demonesque, who groaned and gritted his teeth. The swords vanished and Jackson’s left hand twitched. The blue-sheened feather embedded in Derek’s thigh and he snapped his fingers. Derek sat up and frowned, checking his wrist and shoulder. He stared at Jackson, getting to his feet and rolled his shoulder.

“You can heal?” Derek asked and Jackson gave a one shoulder shrug.

“Sometimes,” he answered.

“And you can dual-wield…” Derek shook his head, staring at Jackson.

“Yes, I can sing and dance, too,” Jackson muttered with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve never had to dual-wield with you before, because you didn’t treat me like a threat.”

“You aren’t a threat… Are you?” Derek asked, rubbing his right wrist.

“I won the fight, Hale,” Jackson said with a smirk, leaning in close to the demonesque, who stared down at him. “I think I get those recipes from your ancestor.”

Derek blinked and stepped back, nodding. “I’ll bring them around on Saturday, along with the ingredients,” he said and Jackson frowned, but stepped back as well.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Jackson moved around Derek and paused, looking over his shoulder as the demonesque turned around. “No, I’m not a threat,” he answered and lowered his eyes. “At least, I don’t believe I am.”

Derek’s brow furrowed and he nodded. “I don’t think you are, either. Black wings doesn’t mean a black heart. My mother taught me that.”

Jackson raised his eyes. “My mother taught me to use everyone around to my advantage,” he said and his wings appeared behind him, blocking his view of Derek. “Catch you Saturday.”

\--

When Saturday rolled around, Jackson visited Danny, mostly so he wouldn’t have to see Derek. If he ignored and avoided the demonesque, he wouldn’t have weird thoughts about someone that was six years his senior. He could almost see Deucalion rolling his eyes at him finding someone so much older than him as a potential mate. Still, it was nice to be around Danny and switch his brain off. He didn’t need to think about anything, as they watched trash television. He didn’t need to be anything, except the best friend of Danny Mahealani, which worked very well for him. He spent most of the day laying on the sofa, his head resting on Danny’s knees.

* * *

Jackson turned down the invitation to the Hale Halloween party, citing that he had mountains of homework to do, as his contracts kept him busy. His parents bought it and left him alone for the night. Jackson had invited Stiles and Scott over, knowing that Danny would be at the Hale manor, hopefully trying to seduce Derek. Scott and Stiles helped him hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters, while Jackson completed his required reading. He wrote his essay on Samhain and took over candy duties once he was finished. He handed out chocolate bars to Scott and Stiles as a ‘thank you.’ It was probably the best way to spend Halloween, even if Danny wasn’t there to share it with him.

* * *

The Christmas Eve dinner party saw Jackson upstairs, having pushed off his wing release for two weeks in order to make sure it happened the day before the party. Unfortunately, Jackson forgot that Derek had dropped off the recipes of his ancestor. His mother mixed the perfect batch and Jackson was forced to drink them, under her watch and she poured the yellow one onto his wounds. They were healed enough for him to retract his wings the night of the dinner party. After that, Jackson just refused to leave his bedroom, despite the fact Danny, Scott and Stiles were downstairs, with Allison and Lydia. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Derek, even though he did want to see Danny awkwardly flirt with the man.

“Get downstairs,” David ordered, bursting in Jackson’s bedroom. “Your friends are asking for you. I don’t know what your problem is recently, but you need to stop being selfish.”

Jackson spun around, halo out and blazing brightly. “What did you just say to me?” he demanded, wings looming behind him as he stepped closer to his father.

David’s eyes flitted from the halo, to the wings, to his son’s face and repeated the loop. “You heard me, Jackson. Get downstairs and mingle with people. Or at the _very_ least, your friends.” His voice didn’t hold the ire it did before.

Jackson hid his halo again and turned his back to his father. “They can come up and see me, if they want. I am not going down there.” He gasped as his father grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the bedroom door. “Dad, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“You’re going to make an appearance, apologize because you got caught up in your homework and _mingle_ with the very important people that have come to visit us,” David stated and Jackson blinked at him, wondering why it mattered that much.

Jackson rarely spoke with the people his parents invited over, making general polite conversation and being bored out of his brain. He sighed softly and let his father pull him downstairs, not surprised to see Stiles and Lydia waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Lydia grinned and pulled Jackson over to the living room entrance, holding him there for a moment. Jackson frowned and Lydia looked up. He followed her eyes and nodded, giving her a quick kiss on the lips.

Lydia was moved out of the way and Danny raised an eyebrow at him. Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes, giving Danny a kiss on the cheek. He cleared his throat and Jackson growled, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Danny grinned and joined the party again, while Jackson kept close to Lydia and Stiles, figuring if he looked like he was lost in conversation with others, no one would bother him.

At the drinks table, Jackson grabbed some punch put out for the children and tensed when someone stood behind him. “What’s up, Disgraced?” a familiar, sneering voice asked.

Jackson turned around, seeing Matt behind him, a smirk on his face. “What rock did you slither out from under to attend this party?” he inquired politely, a charming smile on his face.

“Oh, I’m here as a plus one.” Matt smiled up at Derek.

Jackson glanced at Derek. “Good evening, Mister Hale,” he greeted and returned his eyes to Matt. “I’m over it.”

“Hello, Mister Whittemore,” Derek said and sipped his punch.

Jackson frowned and tilted his head. He felt Lydia’s hand on his and glanced at her. She gave a slight nod and Jackson turned his back to Matt. “Enjoy the rest of the party,” he said, spreading his wings as a way to mentally and physically block Matt from his mind.

“That’s a powerful potion he used on Derek,” Lydia said as she stared at the Hale son. “It’s almost bordering on illegal.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m curious on how he managed to get Derek to drink it.”

Jackson turned around and scanned the faces in the living room. He walked through, checking all the rooms, trying to find another Hale in the house. When he checked outside, he frowned. It was only Derek there, with Matt as his plus one. That didn’t make any sense to him, considering the invitation would have been sent to Talia. She wouldn’t have missed the party for anything short of a family emergency. Considering her brother was still in the hospital after the horrible car fire, he sort of understood her not coming.

Spinning around, Jackson ran inside and found Scott talking with Allison by the billiard table. “Is your mom working tonight?” he asked and Scott frowned.

“Yeah,” he answered and blinked.

“Text her and tell her that I’ll be breaking into Peter Hale’s room,” Jackson said and jogged out of the games room.

“You’re gonna do _what_?” Scott called after him.

Jackson brushed past Derek, sticking him with a blue-sheened feather. He snapped his fingers and Derek blinked, shaking his head and looking around. Jackson accidentally knocked the punch from his hand and stared up at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said as sarcastically as possible.

Matt glared at him, before he realized that Derek wasn’t enchanted. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“What did _you_ do? Did you make it so his uncle almost died?” Jackson hissed as he stepped closer to Matt. “Going after someone’s family is a low move, even for a demonesque.”

“Wait, what?” Derek asked, glancing between the pair in front of him. “What are you doing here, Matt? Where’s my family?”

Jackson glanced at Derek for a moment, before he turned around and walked out of the living room. He left through the front door and beat his wings, taking to the night sky. He soared towards the hospital, landing in front of the entrance and walked in. He had no idea where Peter Hale was and created a small fire with an orange-sheened feather to get the nurses away from their station. He stared at their system, not sure if he knew what he was doing. He found a search function and looked up Peter Hale, finding his room number.

After shutting down the search, Jackson slipped out from the station, letting the nurses comfort people after the fire was out, others trying to find a reason for the fire in the first place. Jackson made his way around the hallways of the hospital, searching for the room number he was after. He found Cora outside a room, while Laura and Talia spoke with a doctor.

Jackson sat beside Cora. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly and Cora jumped slightly, blinking. Tears fell from her eyes.

“Uncle Peter…he slipped into a coma,” she whispered and wiped her cheeks. “He was getting better, too. I mean…slowly, but he was still getting there.”

Jackson hugged her, unsure of what other comfort he could offer at that moment. He just needed a moment alone in the room with Peter. He never would have guessed that Matt was so good with his hexes and potions. Cora sniffled and pulled back, smiling slightly at him, before her eyes were drawn to something in the hallway. She stood up and ran down the hall, throwing her arms around Derek, sobbing into his shoulder.

Talia and Laura turned around, their eyes glancing over Jackson. They and the doctor moved down the hallway and Jackson took his opportunity. He stood up and slipped into the room, listening to the beeping of the heart machine. He stepped past the curtain and his eyes widened at the scarred man laying on the bed. He shook his head. He was only there to cure the hex. The hospital staff could work on the magic that was still leaving him basically lifeless.

A blue-sheened feather embedded in the scarred arm and Jackson snapped his fingers. Peter’s eyes opened and he gasped, a strange, raspy sound. The pale blue eyes moved over to him and Jackson’s wings moved further behind him. Peter’s eyes moved above his head and he rasped again. Jackson frowned and looked up, seeing nothing up there. He knew for a fact that his halo was hidden.

The door to the room opened and Jackson looked over his shoulder, blinking at Melissa McCall. She stared at him, before her eyes dropped to Peter and her eyes widened. “He’s awake,” she breathed and ran from the room.

Jackson turned to follow her, but a sudden strong grip on his wrist stopped him. Peter stared at him and Jackson frowned. “… _all…en_ ,” he croaked around his destroyed vocal cords.

Shaking his head, Jackson said, “Disgraced.”

The family and doctor rushed into the room, the curtain ripping back. Talia’s eyes widened when she saw Jackson there. He smiled and gently removed Peter’s hand from his wrist. He stepped back from the bed as the doctor made his inspections. Jackson gave a half-smile and left the room. He stopped when Derek said his name, but refused to turn around and see him.

“Thank you.”

Jackson turned his head, most of his face hidden by the arch of his wing. “I didn’t do anything,” he said and continued down the hallway. All he had to do was figure out how Matt did what he did and find a way to gather evidence. He’d rather murder a guilty party than an innocent one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it. A word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for that comment. The sexy training sessions will come up soon. I promise! Can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Thanks for the comment. Yeah, I kinda like shy Derek. There's something super adorable about a badass like that being shy around someone. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello, my dear! Thank you so much for that comment! Of course Jackson would never do anything to hurt Stiles. In fact, in a few chapters, one of his best threats comes forward in defense of Stiles. And Talia may have sent Derek around or Derek may have been the ones to make the potions and just used his mother as an excuse. All goods time were had. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well!
> 
> I also apologize for the delay. My internet has gone down for a little while. I promise to update again when I have internet back. 
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	9. Fundraiser Poisoning

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

His sixteenth year wasn’t any better than his fifteenth. He still had contracts to complete. He still helped out during the sword class after school. The only difference was that his bank account was much larger than it was a year ago. The summer just past, he spent a month with Deucalion, refining his skills, growing and maturing as puberty finally left him. The anger at everything died as his hormones settled.

Despite knowing what Matt had done, Jackson wasn’t able to find any evidence. Matt, however, was convinced that Jackson had done something to wake up Peter and to cure Derek. Jackson tried to avoid the little puke stain as much as possible at school, but Matt went out of his way to hunt him down. He had spoken to Deucalion about it and was told some very troubling news.

“Pure demonesques are notorious for making hexes and potions that can’t be traced.”

That was the exact opposite of what Jackson wanted to hear. He would need to either catch Matt doing the hex or spiking someone’s drink with the potion. That didn’t sound easy, especially with homework picking up and getting ready to pick a college to attend, if he wanted to. He honesty hadn’t thought about secondary education, unsure what he would study.

Back at home for the next two months of summer break, Jackson had turned the backyard into his training grounds. His parents made him put everything away whenever they had guests over, such as for Fourth of July. Jackson glanced at his dummies and they wavered out of existence, before he made his way over to the pool. He crouched on the edge of the diving board, staring at his reflection in the rippling water.

He had matured a lot in the face and body. He didn’t have the soft curves of a child, but the sharp angles of a man. His flight feathers spilled over the board, dipping into the water. As he grew up, his tastes in just about everything had changed, as well. Designer clothes were starting to lose their luster, unless they fit him perfectly. Most days he could be found wearing black jeans, boots and a white button down shirt that was untucked. It was versatile, cheap and wouldn’t anger him if he got blood on it.

As his father fought with the barbeque again, Jackson continued to stare at his reflection. He had managed to avoid Derek for the vast majority of the last seven months, as well. It seemed apparent that Derek was embarrassed that he was dosed and that his uncle had been hexed into a coma. Since he woke up, Peter seemed to get stronger every day, which he learned from Stiles, who had his wings manifest in April. He got to feel the pain of that and took to working at the hospital, as his healing spells were his strongest.

Voices made Jackson look up. The Martin family were the first to arrive, followed quickly by Scott and his mother, Stiles and his father and the Hale family. Jackson turned his eyes back to his reflection. Somehow, he managed to keep his Fallen status still hidden. Stiles had dozens of question for him, wanting to study his feathers as he had noticed the feather he stuck Derek with at the Christmas party.

Stiles shouted to him and waved. Jackson stood up and looked at him, his wings on full display. The feathers looked so soft that he almost wanted to ask if he could touch them and feel them. It seemed that he had oiled his wings that day, their glossiness was practically blinding in the July sun. Jackson turned around and walked off the board, joining the others on the deck. He hugged Stiles, Scott, Cora, Laura and Lydia. Danny’s family and the Argents were the next to arrive and join the pack on the deck.

Jackson hugged Danny and Allison, before he decided he was too crowded on the deck. His mind was still on the month he spent with Deucalion and he wished he was there for that day. Spending time around less people was probably a bad thing, considering his profession. He needed to know how to mingle with people and pretend he was normal. He ignored the way Mister Martin turned his nose up when he saw Jackson had his ethereal wings out. Presenting as human around people that thought of him as Disgraced was stupid and he wasn’t going to do that just to put one bigot at ease.

Stiles blocked his path on one side of the table and Danny seemed to take the other side. Both stared at him and Jackson swallowed, coming to the conclusion that they weren’t going to let him run away and hide in his bedroom. The memories of the previous Fourth of July came to mind and he winced. His sixteenth birthday bash had been canceled, as that was the day his wings came out. He had a small celebration with the named people there, but he left the next day to spend time in Vermont.

Inhaling deeply, Jackson turned to Laura. “How’s the business going?” he asked her and she blinked at him.

“Quite well, actually,” she answered with a confused smile. “I wasn’t sure if you knew what we did.”

“You work PR for those running for office around the world,” Jackson said with a shrug. He had come across some of their work on his contracts. “I also think you used to be in the assassination business at one stage.”

“That would be Uncle Peter, before…” Laura trailed off and sighed. “Yeah, we used to do a lot of shady stuff.”

“As far as I can tell, you still do,” Mister Martin said and Jackson saw Lydia roll her eyes.

“Dad, can you _please_ keep your opinions to yourself? You don’t need to start a fight everywhere.”

“He’s entitled to his opinion, Lyds,” Jackson said as he turned to Mister Martin. “Just as I’m entitle to kick his ass should he say anything about my wings.”

“Jackson,” his mother warned, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Mister Martin’s face darkened with anger and Lydia groaned, covering her face with her hands. Danny stood beside her, offering her a comforting arm around her shoulders. Jackson smiled at Mister Martin, though it was probably more a smirk, before he returned his attention to Laura. Misses Martin pulled her husband away, wanting him to calm down and Jackson could happily ignore the man for the rest of the party.

After that, Jackson was allowed to escape. He went into the games room, figuring no one would look for him there. He sat on the billiard table, holding the 8 ball, staring at a picture of a white beach with crystal blue waters. He would assume it was some tropical place. The closest he saw to it was the Cayman Islands, when he killed some investment banker. He enjoyed a day there, before he came back to the States.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Funny, you don’t look it.”

Jackson turned slightly and glared at Derek. “Ever think that maybe I wanted to be alone?”

“It crossed my mind,” Derek admitted, resting against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

Jackson ran his eyes over Derek’s body, not surprised that he hadn’t dressed up for the party. He had filled out more in the past few months, Jackson noticed. His arms were bigger, chest broader and he seemed taller than before. Through the Henley, he could see that Derek’s abdomen was definitely a lot more defined, as well. Jackson raised his eyes, taking in the clear eyes that appeared more grey than green. That could be because of the grey shirt he wore, though.

“Then why are you here, annoying me?” Jackson asked as he turned away from Derek, going back to staring at the picture.

“You looked like you needed a friend,” Derek said, tone blank.

“I have friends for that.”

“Are you scared that what happened last year will happen again?”

“What answer are you looking for, Hale?” Jackson snapped and turned again, glaring at the demonesque. “What are you hoping to achieve here?”

“I was hoping to shoot some pool, but you seem attached to the 8 ball,” Derek answered and pushed off the frame. “Also, I wanted to let you know that you shouldn’t let Herman Martin anger you so easily.”

Jackson shook his head and hopped off the billiard table. He dropped the ball onto the green velvet. “Because you understand what it’s like to be the town freak,” he said.

“My family doesn’t have the best reputation around here, in case you haven’t noticed,” Derek stated as he uncrossed his arms, Jackson staring at his broad shoulders. “Also, happy birthday for last month.”

Jackson blinked and raised his eyes, seeing the lazy, lopsided smile on Derek’s face. “Thanks.”

“I wanted to get you a gift, but then I realized I have no idea what you like.” Derek ran his eyes over Jackson, taking in the somewhat sloppy attire he favored recently. “At first I thought designer brands, as you always wore them. But you’ve decided against most of them, it seems.”

“I don’t need or want gifts,” Jackson stated, his wings covering his body as Derek continued to look at him. Derek got the message and raised his eyes, staring at Jackson blankly. “Usually a text message is enough.”

“I don’t have your number,” Derek said with a shrug.

“Well, you’re a smart guy. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to get it.” Jackson stared at a point over Derek’s shoulder, wanting something to look at that wasn’t the demonesque. “I’m almost certain Danny would give it to you if you promised him a kiss…or a strip tease.” His eyes flicked to Derek’s face in time to see his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. He laughed, wings finally resettling behind him.

“I…I’m not sure what to say to that,” Derek said and cleared his throat, crossing his arms. Jackson was almost certain he was wishing for wings to cover his body.

“Say to what?” Stiles asked, looking over Derek’s shoulder. “This is where you two disappeared to. I was knocking on your bedroom door for like ten minutes.” He groaned and shook his head. “Are we moving the party in here?”

“No,” Derek and Jackson answered. Jackson smiled. “I just needed a moment alone,” he added.

“A moment alone…with Derek?” Stiles’ eyes widened and he held his hands up. “Shit, did I interrupt a moment or something? I didn’t mean to.”

Jackson shook his head and stepped past Derek, keeping his wings behind him. “No, no moment ruined or anything like that,” he said, keeping the disappointment from his voice. He dropped an arm around Stiles’ neck. “I was thinking of taking a swim, though.”

“Hells yes.” Stiles grinned.

As they moved down the hallway, Jackson was certain he heard the pool balls clack. His mind wandered to how good Derek would look, bent over the table, lining up a shot. He mentally shook his head, deciding that a dip in the cold pool water was definitely needed.

* * *

For the next five months, Jackson barely saw the Hale family. Contracts and school kept him busier than he expected. He barely had time to work on his physical appearance. If it wasn’t for the fact that he woke up three hours earlier than he needed, he would barely have time to get a run and fly in. The contracts kept his sword skills sharp. School was keeping his brain, somewhat, sharp. Most of the days he was too tired to apply himself, but still managed to stay above the required C average.

One December morning, Jackson opened his eyes to grey skies and falling snow. He sighed and closed his eyes, wanting to stay under the warm covers. He shivered and was almost asleep again when his phone vibrated. Groaning, Jackson turned off the alarm and rolled over. Again, he was almost asleep when his alarm clock beeped at him. Opening his eyes, he glared at the device and growled. He turned it off and sat on the edge of his bed, stretching his arms above his head and his wings behind him.

After he was finished in the bathroom, he was pulling on his running gear when his phone vibrated. Checking the message, Jackson sighed softly. Less and less contracts were coming through via ‘Divine Intervention’ as more and more people learned about him. Beacon Hills still thought he was only Disgraced and he could live with that. The number that just texted him was a Beacon Hills one and he decided to deal with it after his run in the preserve and his flight back home.

When he was dressed, Jackson checked the message and found that it was a contract. He opened the file that was sent and frowned at it. The contract was in New York. It had been a long while since he was last there, most of his contracts taking him out of the country. He locked his phone, grabbed his iPod and put in the earphones, before he left the house, stretched and hid his wings. He still didn’t like having them on display. People were weird when they saw his wings.

Angelesques stared at them, as though they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Most were terrified, some going as far as to hide their children, as though he would snatch them away. Demonesques had almost the opposite reaction. They preferred to smirk knowingly at him, as though they knew what he really was. Danny was the only person, aside from his parents, to see his halo. Walking through Beacon Hills with his wings out was a chore for Jackson, so most of the time, he still kept them hidden.

Matt Daehler, the little puke, was convinced that Jackson wasn’t just Disgraced. He was trying ways to anger to Jackson into showing off his halo. Deucalion’s words ran through his mind every time he felt his anger spike. Never _show your halo._ Deucalion was only Disgraced and he knew to keep his halo hidden. Jackson had the crown of thorns as a reminder. What that reminder was of, Jackson couldn’t say for certain.

As he moved through a popular trail of the preserve, Jackson’s mind wandered. What was it a reminder of? A reminder that he wasn’t a typical angelesque. A reminder that he was adopted. A reminder that he was only a tool for others. No, that last one wasn’t right. He had the option to turn down contracts. If he was being double-booked for something, he turned down the second contract. Those that were denied by him got angry, until they remembered what they were speaking with. Annoying a Fallen was a sure way to lose their head.

Jackson shook his head, shoving those thoughts away. Thinking on what couldn’t be changed was a great way to lose his mind. After his run, he would get ready for school and respond to the text message. He didn’t like the fact that someone had messaged him at four-thirty in the morning, as though they knew he woke up around that time. Aside from being creepy as hell that someone knew his routine, it made him curious about who spent that much time watching him.

Ahead of him, Jackson frowned at the back of someone. Despite the chill in the air and the snow falling around them, the person was running shirtless and in jeans. Jackson had no idea how they were moving so effortlessly. He narrowed his eyes slightly, seeing something between the shoulders on the back. It was some kind of tattoo, but he couldn’t hazard a guess of what it was and he couldn’t get close enough to fully decern it. The other turned off the trail suddenly and Jackson raised an eyebrow, continuing on his path.

When he was at his turn around point, Jackson leaned against a tree as he stretched out, eyes focused on the snow that was falling around him. He tilted his head back and smiled, closing his eyes as he felt the delicate flakes land on his face and melt. He opened his eyes and leveled his head, knowing that someone was behind him. He was off the trail, giving whoever was back there plenty of space to move around him. The song changed and he turned around, blinking up at Derek.

Derek’s mouth was moving and Jackson turned down his music, removing the earphones. “What?”

“You should be careful around here,” Derek said, crossing his arms. He was wearing a pale grey Henley, which was sticking to him, reminding Jackson of the body hidden. “There have been attacks on joggers in the last few weeks.”

Jackson frowned. He knew he had been away from the town a bit, but he didn’t expect that kind of news. His parents would have warned him about it, considering he jogged through the woods every day. He nodded and stepped around Derek. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said distractedly.

Derek nodded and walked up the trail, while Jackson jogged down it. His mind wandered to who would attack people jogging in the woods. He would assume there hadn’t been any deaths and got the feeling he would be dragged in for questioning, even if the Sheriff and deputies couldn’t arrest him. He hadn’t felt a threat in the area, but that could be because whoever was attacking others wasn’t threatening him.

Jackson entered the house as his mother was coming down the stairs. He smiled as he passed her, turning off his iPod and tossing it onto his bed. He showered and dressed for school, checking his homework and his assignments. The teachers were getting annoyed with him spending so much time out of school, but they were told the accident story. All his time out of school was because of relapses.

After making changes to his English book report, Jackson glanced over his shoulder when someone knocked on his window. He frowned and blinked as he found Scott crouched outside his window. Scott waved at him and Jackson shook his head, unlocking the window and opening it. Scott slipped inside and shivered, brushing snow from his hair and shoulders. Jackson closed the window and turned around.

“Are you insane, McCall? My doorbell works,” Jackson said with a shake of his head and saved the report on his laptop. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could help me,” Scott said, pulling his jacket around his body more as he waited for the heating to work its magic on him. “I’ve been getting close with Allison,” he went on and Jackson turned around in his chair, raising an eyebrow.

“If you’re gonna ask me to teach you how to kiss, ask Danny. He’d probably be a better teacher than me,” Jackson said and grinned as Scott blushed and shook his head.

“No! I mean…maybe. I don’t know!” Scott groaned, running his hands through his hair. “You manage to play it so cool with Lydia,” he said and looked up, reminding Jackson of a kicked puppy.

“That’s because Lydia and I are friends,” Jackson said with a shrug.

“Really? But you kissed her at the Christmas party last year.”

Jackson frowned. “I also kissed Danny. There was mistletoe, man.”

“Oh.” Scott lowered his eyes. “That explains why Allison kissed me,” he said and sat on the bed. “Her dad will probably challenge me when he realizes how serious we’re getting. Could you give me a hand?”

“Are mate duels allowed to be tag-team?” Jackson asked as he stood up, grabbing his jacket and pulling on his shoes. “Isn’t Derek helping you?”

“I prefer your method of teaching. You literally beat it into us.” Scott smiled and Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“I can tell Derek to be more hands on with you,” Jackson offered with a shrug. “I’m not taking a student from him. He’s a great teacher. And he’s demonesque, like you.”

Scott sighed and rubbed his neck. “That’s why I was hoping you could help. Allison is angelesque. I was hoping to impress her father with some angelesque skills.”

Jackson frowned, wondering why Scott would come to him. Stiles would probably be more than happy to help him, until he remembered that he never saw Stiles in the afterschool program. He knew that Danny had a spear, which wouldn’t be all that helpful to Scott. He chewed his lower lip, still unsure about helping Scott behind Derek’s back.

“Ask Derek if I can show you a few moves. If he agrees, I’ll help,” he said and Scott groaned, flopping back on the bed. Jackson sighed as he saw his covers messing up. “It’s the best I can do, man. I’m not going to face Derek’s wrath if he doesn’t like his students playing with others.” He slapped Scott’s knee. “Come on. Have some breakfast with me.”

Scott sat up and frowned at Jackson as he went to the bedroom door. “Won’t your parents ask how I got in here?” he asked as he stood.

“I’m almost certain they expect someone to sneak in through my window, man.” Jackson paused and looked at Scott. “I just hope you don’t plan on sneaking in.”

Scott shook his head. “I know not to mess with someone’s potential mate, man.”

Jackson frowned and spun around. “What? Who’s potential mate am I meant to be?” he asked.

“Dude, have you seen yourself? Even in jeans, boots and a shirt, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Scott said and his eyes widened. “Oh god. Please don’t tell anyone I said that.” He covered his face with his hands and groaned, sounding like he was in actual pain.

Jackson cleared his throat, wings appearing behind him and wrapping around him. That was probably the most awkward he had ever felt. “I swear those words will _never_ leave my mouth,” he promised, waiting for the embarrassment to die off, before he turned around and went down the stairs.

“Why did I even say that?” Scott muttered and Jackson froze.

Spinning around again, he glared at Scott, who stepped back. “Fear. You said it out of fear. You didn’t want to answer my question, so you said something that would change the subject,” he said and stepped closer to Scott. “What has you so scared about telling me who my potential mate is, McCall?”

Scott swallowed, eyes on Jackson’s wings as they rose high behind him, darkening until they looked like a void in space. He tripped on a step and fell while Jackson loomed over him. “Um…maybe this? You’re fucking _terrifying_ when you need to be, Jackson. You scare me.”

Jackson ignored the doorbell, smirking down at Scott. “Don’t lie to me, Scotty. Tell me what you know.”

“Oh geez, Jackson,” his mother said, turning from the door and staring at him. “Could you do… _whatever_ that is in your bedroom?”

Jackson straightened and blinked down at her. “I’m having a conversation with a friend,” he said and smiled. “You remember Scott McCall, right?” He pulled Scott to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Scott offered a shaky smile, tensing as one of Jackson’s wings wrapped around him.

“Help me,” Scott squeaked and winced as Jackson’s arm tightened.

Jackson’s mother glanced between them, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, then. Enjoy your conversation, boys. This way, Talia.”

Talia glanced at them, smiling as she followed Jackson’s mother through the dining room. She paused and stepped back. “Oh, Scott. Derek will hear about this,” she said, her smile becoming sympathetic.

“We’re just talking!”

Jackson pulled back and frowned at Scott. He sounded genuinely terrified about Derek finding out about their conversation. He turned his confused eyes to Talia. She just smiled at them and continued through the living room. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m gonna have my ass kicked all over the preserve!” Scott’s shoulders slumped and he glared at Jackson. “Why couldn’t you just focus on me calling you gorgeous?”

Jackson held his hand up. “I don’t want to think about it. Come on. If you’re gonna have your ass kicked all over the woods, you’re going to need breakfast.”

Scott whined as he followed Jackson to the kitchen. “After this, Derek is _definitely_ gonna say no to you teaching me some angelesque maneuvers,” he said as he sat at the breakfast counter.

Jackson pulled his wings back so he could look at Scott. “Why? If you want to learn them, he can’t actually stop you from doing that,” he said as he got the eggs and bacon from the fridge.

Scott stared down at the counter as Jackson got the pans and began frying the bacon. “He’s just as scary as you are. Unlike you, he won’t wait for me to attack first, though.” He sighed and looked up. “Why did you have to touch me like that?”

Jackson grabbed the bread and glanced at Scott. “I’m secure in who I am. I thought you were, too,” he answered with a shrug, taking out four slices of wholegrain bread.

“I’m secure in who I am,” Scott said with a glare, his dark red, deer antler horns shimmered into existence.

Jackson stared at the horns, loving the color of them. “Your horns are beautiful,” he said.

Scott blinked, the frown disappearing from his face. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “Um…thanks. I think. I don’t really like the color.”

Jackson grinned. “I love the color. It reminds me of arterial spray. It’s _glorious_.” His eyes flashed as he looked at Scott. “The shape is nice, too.”

Scott’s face froze and he almost seemed to stop breathing. “How… How do you know what arterial spray looks like? How do you know what color it is?”

Jackson plated the bacon and eggs, placing one in front of Scott with a knife and fork. “You don’t want to see what my internet search history is,” he said with a smirk.

Scott shrugged and ate his breakfast, keeping his eyes down. “What do you think of Derek, anyway?”

Jackson looked up, licking the corner of his mouth. “He’s a great swordsman. His magic is phenomenal. He’s sort of like an older brother. Someone you can annoy the hell out of, but can hand back to his parents later.” He grinned and finished his bacon.

“Harsh,” Scott muttered. “You mind giving me a lift to school, as well? I may as well go all out for the ass kicking.”

Jackson nodded, putting their plates in the sink. “You want me to call you ‘sweetie,’ as well?” he asked as grabbed the orange juice from the fridge.

Scott shook his head. “Hell no! I’m pretty sure that would result in my death.”

Jackson poured the juice into glasses, handing one to Scott. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I can go with you to your lesson. Derek can’t be that much of a dick with a witness, right?”

Scott’s hand shook as he stared at Jackson with wide eyes. “Please don’t get anywhere near the preserve after school today,” he begged weakly and lowered the glass.

“I’m not gonna let him kill you because we were having a conversation,” Jackson said with a shrug, returning the juice to the fridge. “Besides, I want to see how good you’ve gotten with your sword.”

“I’m gonna die,” Scott whimpered and dropped his head. “Just promise me one thing, please.” He looked up, eyes pleading and Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Make sure he kills me quickly.”

“I won’t let him kill you, McCall.” Jackson grinned and ruffled Scott’s hair. “I’ll step in if it looks like he’s going too hard on you.”

Scott nodded. “I guess that’s better than nothing. We should probably head off.”

Jackson finished his juice and ran upstairs, grabbing his books and bag. He checked his phone and frowned, when he remembered the text message he received. He quickly sent through that he would accept the contract, as it was that Saturday and he didn’t have anything else planned for it. Spending the night in New York sounded like a good time, to him.

\--

During second period, Jackson received an email. He frowned at the sender, seeing that it was just random numbers and letters. A throwaway email. Raising an eyebrow, he opened the email and saw that it was a two tickets to a gala on Saturday. Blinking, Jackson sat back, staring at the tickets. He shook his head and stood up, leaving the classroom, despite the teacher staring at him.

Calling the number that texted him, Jackson waited. “Hale,” a male voice said.

Jackson froze and lowered his hand, staring at his phone. He hung up and swallowed. The Hales couldn’t know he was a Fallen, could they? No. They must have gotten his number from someone else and didn’t realize it belonged to him. Either way, he couldn’t let the person on the other end hear his voice. He brought up the app that modulated his voice and redialed the number, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Hale.”

“I work alone,” Jackson stated.

“You’ll be taking someone with you. She’ll meet you there. You can count on her.”

The voice was full of confidence and Jackson raised an eyebrow. “I better be able to, Hale. Or I’ll send her back to you in pieces.” He hung up, turning off the voice modulator. He glared at his phone, unable to believe someone wanted him babysat. Did they not know he was a Fallen? He shook his head and returned to class, not making any excuses for the teacher. He just sat down and waited for school to finish.

\--

After school, Jackson drove Scott over to the Hale manor. He sat on the trunk of his car, a birthday present from his folks. A Porsche he didn’t want, as he had his eye on a different car. Imported, as well. Still, it got him where he needed to go. He shivered and pulled his jacket around his body as Scott waited in the snow for Derek to come out. When he did, Jackson’s eyes widened.

Derek had a dark scowl on his face, sword materializing in his hand as he approached Scott, who gulped. Scott barely had time to bring his own sword up as Derek went in for an attack. Jackson’s lips parted as Derek didn’t go easy on Scott, despite him clearly not being on the same level. In seconds, Derek had knocked the sword from Scott’s hand and was glaring down at him, sword to his throat. It was honestly the sexiest thing Jackson had ever seen.

“I swear, nothing happened,” Scott said as Derek crouched down.

Derek growled and drew his sword back. Jackson slipped off the car and his sword clashed with Derek’s. He shoved the demonesque back, standing in front of Scott. Derek frowned, looking between Jackson and what he could see of Scott around Jackson’s impressive wings. Pain flashed through his eyes and Jackson blinked, unsure if he saw that or not.

“I don’t know what’s got your tail in a knot, but you don’t take it out on someone that isn’t on your level,” Jackson said, his wings drawing back and up. “You could have killed him!”

Derek glanced between them and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he said, his sword disappearing.

“Didn’t know what?”

Scott sighed and stood up, dusting off his pants that were already soaked. “He thinks you’re claiming me as a potential mate,” he said and Jackson’s eyes widened.

Spinning around, Jackson stared at Scott and then at Derek, before he burst out laughing. “You’re joking, right? _Scott_?! He can barely handle his sword.”

Derek blinked as Scott lowered his head, pouting down at the snow covered ground. “You just defended him,” Derek said.

Jackson frowned. “Just because I don’t want him as a mate doesn’t mean I don’t want him as a friend. You were going to kill one of my friends.”

Derek crossed his arms and glared down at the snow, mouth pursed as though he just sucked on a lemon. Jackson frowned at him and then at Scott, trying to figure out what he was missing. “Oh my god. Whatever. I need to pack,” he said and shook his head. Neither of them were going to tell him what he wanted to hear. “I’ll be training with Scott, as well,” he called over his shoulder. “Try not to kill him.”

Slipping into his car, Jackson started it, seeing Derek speaking with Scott, who was nodding. He backed away and turned his car around, knowing that packing was a lie. He was going to replay those seconds of Derek wailing on Scott. The effortless swings and power behind them made a tingle run down Jackson’s spine. That was the kind of power he wanted to see when they sparred, before it ended so pathetically soon. Once he had taken care of that problem between his legs, he could focus on New York.

* * *

Friday night, Jackson met his date for the gala. She nodded at him and they entered the hotel together, going to the same room. No words were spoken, as introductions weren’t needed. Jackson’s just stared at Laura. He had no idea why he was working so closely with one of them, as he was certain he had taken contracts from the Hales before. None of them had been this direct, though. This time, they had messaged him specifically.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Laura asked as she unpacked her suitcase.

“Filled with people I don’t care about,” Jackson answered and hung up his suit. “Yours?”

“Filled with people I do care about,” Laura said with a grin. “I heard that you had some excitement at school.”

“If you want to call it that,” Jackson said with a shrug, rolling his shoulders. The excitement was Allison, somehow, hearing about Jackson defending Scott from Derek, which just opened a can of worms he didn’t want to think about before a contract.

“Is it true that Fallens can hide their real wings?” Laura asked as she turned to Jackson, staring at his wings.

Jackson flexed his ethereal wings, which had taken on the appearance of being real. “Do these look solid to you?” He smirked when she grinned at him. “Hemlock or cyanide?” he asked as he removed his shirt.

“Tough choice,” Laura said as she went into the bathroom to set up her toiletries. “Hemlock isn’t used that often, anymore. I think that’ll be the way to go.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jackson agreed, undoing his jeans. He pulled on his pajamas, feeling the material of the shirt slide against his wings. “By the time they figure it out, we should be back in Beacon Hills.”

“Sounds good to me,” Laura said as she came out of the bathroom. “Turn around.”

Jackson did as he was told, gazing down at the carpet of the room. He could hear Laura undressing behind him and hummed to himself. While the Hale family was filled with beautiful people, Jackson had found himself eyeing her brother more than her. If she made a move on him, Jackson wasn’t going to turn her down, though. Sex wasn’t something that entered his mind often, but when it did, he could think of all the positions Derek Hale could bend him into.

“You can turn around now,” Laura said as she sat on the bed closest to the balcony and turned on the TV. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Jackson answered with a shrug and threw most of the pillows off the bed. “I haven’t worn that Gucci suit in a while, though.”

Laura gazed at Jackson, a lazy smile on her face. “I keep forgetting that you have expensive tastes,” she said and then realized the hotel they were staying in was at her request. “I guess it just runs in our families.”

Jackson laughed and slipped under the covers of his bed, after turning off the lights. “Goodnight, Laura.”

“Night, Jackson.”

\--

Once he was dressed, Jackson made his wings invisible, knowing that everyone would watch him if they knew he had black wings. Laura came out of the bathroom in a sleek red dress. Her gold horns, looking like rose branches and tail were on full display. She smiled as Jackson opened the door for her and they left the room, heading down and into the waiting car that the mark had sent for them.

In the backseat, Jackson and Laura checked their phones, sending text messages to those that were worried about them. Laura had her entire family, while Jackson had Stiles, Danny and Scott. He hadn’t told any of them what he was doing, but when he said, ‘I need to attend a gala in New York,’ Stiles and Danny knew what he was doing. Both wanted to make sure Jackson knew what he was doing and that he wouldn’t get hurt.

**Unknown:** Don’t fuck this up.

Jackson raised an eyebrow and showed his phone to Laura. “Yeah, that’s Derek. This is our first time using you, directly. He’s a little worried about using someone local,” she explained and Jackson raised an eyebrow.

If he didn’t know any better, Jackson would swear that Derek doubted him. He ignored the text message and went back to talking with Stiles and Danny, as Scott was too scared to speak with him after the hell Derek gave him. Fucking up a contract wasn’t something Jackson was known for. Surely, the Hales knew what he was like. They had to know what all Fallens were like, otherwise why use one? It wasn’t often that the Hales employed a Fallen, but when they did, it was for something massive.

Once they pulled up in front of a different hotel, Jackson ended the conversation with his friends. The driver opened the door for them, wishing them a goodnight. Jackson and Laura glanced at each other, smirking. They nodded at the doorman as he welcomed them and made their way towards the ballroom. Jackson immediately grabbed a chute of champagne and sipped it, surveying the room.

Old and young alike mingled with each other. It was a fundraiser to help with grace poisoning for new angelesques. That was nice of them. Grace poisoning killed a third of new angelesques every year. There was no cure for it, but that didn’t stop others from trying to find one. If the grace entered the body violently, it was up to the will of the angelesque to fight it and pull through.

Eyes narrowed, Jackson found the mark. It was a middle-aged man that was smiling a lot and shaking hands with everyone that crossed his path. Glancing at Laura, she shook her head and he nodded. Plastering a smile on his face, Jackson mingled with the people. He saw horns and wings everywhere and he was the only presenting human in the room. The mark was a demonesque, his black, ram-like horns shone like they were polished that hour.

After a short time, the mark crossed paths with Jackson. The man grinned and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Adrian Harris,” he said.

“Jackson Whittemore,” Jackson greeted, giving the man a firm grip.

“Of the Beacon Hills Whittemores?” Adrian asked, running his eyes over Jackson.

“The one and only,” Jackson said, really disliking the way the man looked at him. “It’s a great cause you’ve got going here,” he added.

“Angelesques are needed as much as demonesques,” Adrian said and finally released Jackson’s hand. “Enjoy the party and don’t forget to donate!”

Jackson smirked. “I’ll consider it,” he said and Adrian frowned at him, before his attention was taken by an older woman, who greeted him like an old friend.

“You handled that well,” Laura said as she stood beside Jackson, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I should never doubt myself again.”

“Fallens have the best of both worlds,” Jackson said and finished the champagne. It was some of the cheapest champagne he had ever drunk. “You should introduce yourself to him, too.”

“He already knows who I am,” Laura stated, sipping her champagne. “Kill him after his speech.”

Jackson nodded and went back to conversing with random people. Many wanted to know if he was a pure human and Jackson gave them small smiles, appearing a little embarrassed. He got the sympathy of the angelesques, while the demonesques decided he wasn’t of any use to them. He found that one couple had lost their child to grace poisoning, which was why they were happy about the fundraiser. Jackson was bored out of his mind, but remembered to offer his condolences to them.

Adrian continued to speak to the guests, which had Jackson curious. It wasn’t often that he asked questions about his marks, but there didn’t seem a reason to kill Adrian. Pulling his cell phone out, he went to text Derek and stopped. He couldn’t send out a text message while on a contract. Instead, he found Laura and went to ask her, when some tipsy demonesque slung an arm around her shoulders. Jackson narrowed his eyes, ready to kick the shit out him, when Laura smiled kindly.

“Your horns are pretty,” the man said with a smirk, staring at the gold horns.

“Thank you,” Laura said politely and shrugged his arm from her body. “I’m Laura Hale.”

The man’s eyes widened and he straightened, taking a step back. He nodded at her and found some other poor woman to try and seduce. Jackson glanced at Laura and smirked as she giggled. He forgot how powerful the Hale name was amongst the social elite. His question about Adrian Harris was forgotten as the lights dimmed slightly, which was apparently some kind of signal.

Adrian grinned as he went up to a podium and held his hands up, wanting silence. “As you know, a third of all new angelesques die from grace poisoning every year,” he said and appeared genuinely saddened by the fact. “An angelesque’s grace is unique, so finding a quick fix isn’t possible. Finding a cure-all isn’t possible, either. But we can find a common thread between the grace and hopefully that will stop parents from losing their children and hopefully bring up the angelesque population.”

The crowd clapped and Adrian smiled at them. Jackson’s eyes widened a fraction when he saw the mask slip. He knew why Adrian Harris was on the Hales’ list of demonesques to kill. Crossing his arms, he straightened and waited for the opportunity to kill that bastard. Taking advantage of charities was one of the lowest things anyone could do. It was exceptionally bad for a demonesque and not very creative, either.

“As someone that has many angelesque friends, I feel their pain, as well. That’s why I’m asking you to dig deep, mostly into those unallocated funds,” he said with a grin and many of the guests chuckled. “To help us find a cure for grace poisoning and help families stay together!”

The crowd cheered and clapped, while Adrian grinned at them and stepped away from the podium. Laura had her checkbook out. Jackson frowned at her. “It’s a legitimate cause. Just because he’s a slimy piece of shit doesn’t mean we aren’t going to help out,” she said with a shrug.

Jackson nodded and grabbed a shrimp, dipping it into a sauce. He ate it as he watched Adrian move through the crowd, shaking hands and thanking those that were donating. Adrian moved closer to he and Laura, who had removed the cheque and folded it. She smiled at Adrian, shaking his hand and handing him the cheque. Adrian turned to Jackson, holding his hand out. Jackson shook his hand.

“I’ll do a direct transfer, if you don’t mind,” Jackson said and Adrian grinned. “ _Będę się za ciebie modlił_.”

The grin faltered for a moment. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Miss Hale and Mister Whittemore.”

Adrian turned his back to the pair, accepting a cheque from someone else. Jackson twisted his left hand, a black feather with a violet sheen appearing in his hand. He glanced at Laura and she nodded. The feather went into the base of Adrian’s hair and vanished when Jackson snapped his fingers. Jackson smiled and grabbed another chute of champagne, sipping it as Adrian continued to make his way through the crowd. Twelve minutes after he thanked Jackson and Laura, he stumbled, apologizing to a woman he walked into.

As the minutes went by, Jackson and Laura speaking with others, Adrian was rubbing his abdomen and complaining about a burning. Adrian’s speech began thickening and slurring as the ability to talk was slowly disappearing from him. Nearly half an hour after shaking hands with Jackson and Laura, Adrian Harris convulsed and collapsed to the floor, a scream erupting from a woman.

Like everyone else, Jackson and Laura looked over at the scene and pushed their way forward, wanting to see what all the commotion was about. An angelesque was trying to find a pulse on Adrian, while several people called for an ambulance. The angelesque shook his head, saying that the police are needed. Jackson and Laura glanced at each other. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it! Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Thank so much for the comment and for the hearts! Also, you're welcome for the sexy training times. I do believe there are more on the way, but I could be completely wrong. I mean, I only write the story. Derek kinda keeps things close to the chest. Yes, there will be a kiss in later chapters. Hope you enjoyed this one and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Thanks so much for the comment! I agree. I didn't want Jackson to pull away, but being that he was fifteen and all... Still, there will be more sexy training times in the future. Not many, but they'll be there. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you so much for the hearts! I don't know why, but that comment made me think of Jackson eating marshmallows in secret, like it's some great sin. But yes, I agree completely. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello, my dear! Gosh, I was so worried that you weren't going to comment before I updated again! I hope school is going well and you're not too stressed by anything in life. Honestly, I think Deucalion does roll his eyes. I can't be entirely certain, but someone does roll their eyes about the whole thing. The three questions... I didn't even think of them, because I knew Jackson was going to win. As for Matt being cut, it's because he likes having Derek's attention on him entirely. I may have forgotten that he had a thing for Allison, so might have to work in somehow, too. Gosh darn it, so much amending to do! Thank you so much for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! I promise, Jackson kicking ass will come again...at some point. I think...
> 
> To those that left kudos, thank you so much! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	10. A Brother's Contract

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Back in Beacon Hills, Jackson got a ride with Laura back to the Hale manor. The police had cleared them, not even glancing at Jackson when they saw he was presenting as human. Laura was cleared, as her last name was Hale and the last thing the police wanted was to face their wrath. Adrian Harris was just another death at a fundraiser, which was sad.

Jackson had no idea why he was wanted at the Hale manor. He had done his job. All he needed to do was wait for a confirmation email or text, telling him that his payment had gone through and he could get back to being a teenager. He watched as the trees flew by, Laura apparently seeing a speed limit as a challenge. Jackson shifted in the seat, feeling a burning sensation on his back. His wings were getting restless being locked away, which was beginning to annoy the ever-loving crap out of him.

Talia opened the door and the sun bounced off her deep purple horns, which reminded Jackson of blackberry branches. Her tail was coiled around her leg as she smiled at Laura and then Jackson. Rolling his shoulders, Jackson approached the matriarch of the Hale house and shook her hand. Her eyes were on the ethereal wings of Jackson and her eyes danced. For some reason, she was always taken with his wings. Jackson wasn’t sure if it was polite to ask.

“Welcome home,” Talia said and stepped to the side, letting them into the house. Jackson removed his jacket and hung it from the coatrack. “Jackson, if you go down the hall and to the left, you’ll find the library.”

Jackson nodded and followed her directions, finding that the library was the second door on the left. Entering the room, Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw the books. The library was massive, taking up both floors. Ladders and staircases took people up to the second level. The shelves were a beautiful deep brown and highly polished. Eyes full of wonder and appreciation, Jackson felt himself floating up to the topmost shelf and taking a bird’s eye view of the room.

“I didn’t know you could fly.”

Jackson plummeted back to the floor and snapped his wings, slowing his descent. He landed on his feet and glared up at the idiot that distracted him. Talia’s brother stood up there, smirking down at him, before he made his way down a staircase. Peter Hale was the one that did most of the dirty work for the Hale family. Jackson admired his methods, even if he didn’t have a strong opinion of the demonesque. After a fire a few years ago, Peter wasn’t able to resume his role as enforcer for the Hale family.

“Fallens are full of surprises,” Peter said as he stood in front of Jackson and extended a hand.

Jackson shook his hand and then crossed his arms. “Something else I can help you with?” he asked as he checked his vibrating phone. Stiles was asking questions again. Jackson told him he would see him in a little bit.

“How about a contract?” Peter asked and Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“I just finished one,” Jackson said.

Peter chuckled and beckoned Jackson to follow him. They moved through the shelves and Jackson found Derek resting against a desk, arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. Dressed in jeans, off-white v-neck and boots, he managed to look suave as well as intimidating. Peter left them alone and Jackson watched him go, curious on what this other contract was.

Derek raised his head when the door to the library closed, fixing Jackson with a stare. “I figured you were a Fallen,” he said.

“Disappointed?” Jackson asked as he looked around the office space.

“You did your job,” Derek answered, voice monotone, though his eyes were definitely on Jackson’s wings. “Laura said you handled yourself very professionally, despite your age.”

Jackson snorted and turned around. “I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen. You think this is the first contract I’ve had where it was at a fundraiser? The only difference was this one was in New York, instead of the Cayman Islands,” he said.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “That was you? You slit his throat in front of sixty witnesses and no one saw a thing.”

Jackson smirked, wings arching proudly behind him. “That’s because no one pays attention to the human in the room,” he stated and crossed in front of Derek, going to the window that overlooked the side of the house.

“How long have you been registered?” Derek asked, still in the same monotone voice.

“Since I was fourteen,” Jackson answered and turned around. “Is that what you really care about? You wanna shoot the shit with a Fallen?”

Derek’s eyes went to Jackson’s wings. “May I?” he asked.

Jackson pulled his wings back and shook his head. The last time his wings touched Derek, they released and coated everyone in blood. “No.”

Derek nodded, eyes moving to Jackson’s face. “We were hoping to get you to sign a contract with us,” he said and Jackson tilted his head, stepping away from the window.

“I don’t need to sign contracts. Just send me a text and I’ll see if my schedule is free,” he said.

Derek pushed off the desk and stepped around it. “Not that kind of contract,” he explained. “Have a seat.”

Jackson glanced at the chairs in front of the desk and shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you.” He rolled his shoulders, feeling a strange burning sensation. It was…very similar to the first time his wings manifested. “Make this quick,” he snapped.

Derek frowned at him, but pulled a file from a drawer and held it out. “Get your father to look this over,” he said.

Jackson grabbed the file, shoulders jerking. He glanced at the file. “What’s the contract about?” he asked, ignoring the way his wings moved around in their cage.

Derek moved around the desk, looking him over. “We’d like to keep you on staff,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Jackson stepped back from the demonesque and nodded. “I’m fine. What do you mean? I can’t…” He pursed his lips, holding back a whimper and moved further from Derek. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

Jackson’s eyes widened as Derek was in front of him in an instant. His hand reached for a shoulder. “Don’t—!” He broke off into a scream as Derek touched his shoulder and his wings ripped through his back.

On his hands and knees, Jackson panted, wings flapping behind him to remove the blood. He heard Derek curse and run from the library. Jackson focused on keeping his wings behind him, as he didn’t want to cause any damage to the office space. Well, any more damage than he had already done with his blood. He kept his eyes open, knowing that he was about to pass out from the pain. He really hated that Derek forced his wings out.

His head was forced up and he looked into the blurry face of Derek. “Open your mouth,” he said. Jackson’s eyes fluttered, but his lips parted. Something floral hit his tongue and he forced his throat to work, swallowing the potion. “One more,” Derek said, forcing Jackson onto his knees, arm around his shoulders, supporting him.

As the first potion moved through his system, Jackson opened his mouth again and swallowed the second one. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the potions move through him and soothe the pain in his back. He fell forward, head resting on a warm shoulder that was covered in soft cotton. It felt nice and it smelled just as good. He could feel a hand touching the feathers of his wing and his eyes flew open, pulling back entirely. The last thing he wanted was for Derek to lose a hand to his wings.

“I know you prefer angelesques doing this,” Derek said as he opened the yellow potion. Jackson stared at his hands, which were fine. “But we don’t have one here. I mean, I can call someone.”

Jackson took the hand that was around him. The sleeve was soaked in his blood, staring at it and frowning. Derek had touched his wings. He had _felt_ his feathers moving around the hand. He knew Derek hadn’t meant to touch his wing, as he was just trying to support him, but that hand should still be shredded.

“Um…” Derek cleared his throat and Jackson looked up. “You’re still bleeding.”

Jackson nodded and stood, lowering his wings and wrapping them around his ribs. He turned his back to Derek and felt the coolness of the potion being poured onto the wounds. He would need to walk home, as he wasn’t going to risk tearing open the healing wounds. He heard Derek step back and he reseated his wings, letting them flap a little. Being pulled in that direction was always painful.

“Thanks,” Jackson said and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll pay for the cleaning bill and…” He looked around, seeing that many of the books were covered with his blood. “And I’ll pay for whatever books need to be replaced. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. How are you feeling?”

Jackson heard the vials clinking and turned around, making sure his wings were up. “Fine. Embarrassed as hell, but fine. The pain isn’t there.”

Derek nodded, eyes on the feathers. “When was the last time they were oiled?”

Jackson lowered his eyes. “A long while ago,” he answered.

“Did you want me to get Doctor Deaton here?” Derek asked, eyes fixed on the topmost feathers.

“Actually… Could you get Stiles? He knows how…to do it without making me want to murder him.” Jackson stared at Derek’s boots, which were covered with his blood.

“Of course. Did you want to wait in here or would you prefer the living room, where you can watch something while you wait?”

The boots moved closer and Jackson felt the need to purr as a hand landed on his shoulder. He swallowed, tongue running along his lower lip, not sure if he should ask what was going through his mind. “Unless… Unless you wouldn’t mind doing it?”

The hand was removed and the boots stepped back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said softly and Jackson nodded.

“I can walk to Stiles’ from here.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve got two open wounds on your back, Jackson. Just… Follow me into the living room.”

Jackson’s wings wrapped around his body as he followed Derek out of the library, down the hallway, up another and into the living room. He stood behind the sofa, watching as the TV came on. He grabbed his phone and texted his father, letting him know that he was at the Hale manor and would likely not be home until very late. He locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket again, watching as Derek flipped through the channels.

“Anything will do. Can you get Laura to pick up Stiles? She drives like a demon.”

“Sure,” Derek said, stopping on a channel dedicated to painting.

Jackson lowered his eyes as Derek walked by him. When he was alone, he looked at the screen. He tilted his head, watching as the man painted a beautiful landscape with only a few strokes of a brush. His eyes widened when he saw a lake appearing in the center of the painting, again with only a few strokes of a brush. It looked so simple and so easy to recreate. The method didn’t really require a bunch of little details, all of them there almost instantly.

By the time the second episode finished, Jackson’s wings had relaxed slightly. They weren’t hugging him as tightly as they were in the library, which changed the moment Derek entered the living room again. His wings clamped up. Derek noticed and kept his distance, placing a glass of orange juice on the table.

“I figured you might need that. You lost…”

“A lot of blood,” Jackson finished and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV screen. “Thanks.”

“Having your wings around your body like that can’t be good for the wounds,” Derek said and Jackson glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on the joints attached to Jackson’s shoulder-blades.

“It’s fine,” Jackson said. “Were you able to get ahold call Stiles?”

“Yeah…” Derek’s lips pursed for a moment. “He was…engaged when I called. So I called Doctor Deaton. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” There was a silence after Jackson nodded. “Why did you—?”

“Exsanguination induced insanity,” Jackson said, keeping his eyes on the TV, feeling his wings pulling more tightly around his body. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Derek swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. Um… When your wings have been…groomed, I can show you to a bathroom.”

Jackson dropped his head and closed his eyes. He managed to make things super awkward between them, because he wanted to know if Derek could actually touch his wings without gloves. And because he definitely wanted to feel Derek’s hands on those glands. He was the one that kept reminding himself that he was sixteen and Derek could get into trouble if they did anything. Plus, he had no idea how many suitors Derek actually had. Some going as far as to dose him up with a potion.

Sighing softly, Jackson opened his eyes. He had put Derek in a horrible position. “Derek,” he said and looked at the demonesque. “I’m sorry. I should not have asked that of you.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” Derek stared at him. “So why did you?”

“Your hand,” Jackson said and stared at it. He finally saw that Derek had cleaned up and changed shirts. “I felt it touch my wing.”

Derek looked at his hand and frowned. “That’s impossible. No one can touch a Fallen’s wings without protection. Not if they don’t want to lose a few fingers.”

Jackson nodded and returned his eyes to the TV, watching as a cabin was created with just a few strokes of a palette knife. “I must have been feeling things, then,” he said. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right. Knowing you thought you felt my hand on your wing makes a lot of sense.”

Jackson looked at Derek, seeing a lazy smile on his face. The tension finally released from his body and his wings settled behind him. Things weren’t going to be weird between them. At least he could properly blame the blood loss and Derek probably would, as well. Thankfully, Alan was rushed into the living room by Talia and Jackson smiled at him. It had been several months since Alan needed to oil his wings.

“I think the last time I saw you in this state was after your first manifestation,” Alan said as he pulled on the metal gloves and stood behind Jackson. “Do you mind if I check them first?”

“Go for it. They probably need it.”

Jackson heard the familiar sparking of metal on his feathers. Alan hummed as he tested the joints of the wings and checked the feathers. “Despite needing a groom, they’re still in great shape. They’re strong and fully developed, as they were two years ago. They’re a little bigger, growing to fit your frame and because you can fly.”

Jackson nodded, glancing at Talia and Derek. The Hales were standing in the living room threshold, watching the way the sparks flew from his wings. He figured if he saw a Fallen getting a wing examination, he would be curious about it, as well. He glanced at Derek, curious about his horns. He had seen everyone else’s, except Derek’s and he was wondering why he hid them.

“Stretch them for me, please,” Alan said, standing back. Jackson folded his wings back and out. “Beautiful. And to the sides, like you’re peacocking.”

Jackson cleared his throat and glanced around the living room. “I can’t,” he said and blushed. “My wings are too big for this room.”

“Stretch them out as far as you’re comfortable.”

Jackson bit his lower lip and nodded, stretching his wings to about half their length. He glanced at Talia and Derek. Talia smiled, running her eyes over them. Derek stared at him, running his eyes over his body, before he turned around and left the room. The sparking on his wings had Jackson blinking and looked over his shoulder. Alan was testing his joint, moving the wing back and forth.

“They’re in great shape.” Jackson settled his wings and Alan glanced at Talia. “May we have the use of a bathroom for the oiling?”

“Of course,” Talia answered with a smile.

Jackson and Alan followed her down the hallway and both entered the bathroom. Jackson gripped the vanity as Alan stood behind him. He felt the metal fingers moving under his feathers and he cried out as the gland was massaged for a few seconds. Jackson closed his eyes as Alan moved to the left wing. His grip tightened as the gland was worked and he was moaning, knees weak and erection painful in his jeans. He knew his sword was hovering by his hip, waiting for him to grip it and attack the one that had touched him.

“I’m sorry,” Alan whispered as he moved around Jackson’s wings and ran from the bathroom.

Jackson fell to his knees, arms still up on the vanity as he shuddered, feeling a cool breeze tickling his feathers. He opened his eyes and stumbled to his feet again. He winced as he saw the damage his wings did to the tiles of the bathroom and figured that was another thing he would need to pay for. Maybe it would be best if he didn’t receive his payment for the Harris job. It seemed all of it was going back into the Hale house.

Glancing at his feathers, Jackson was grateful to see that the topmost feathers were enjoying the oil that was spreading over them. Once they were sitting flat, he opened the door and froze when he found Derek standing outside, eyes lowered. Jackson’s eyes dropped to the towel in his hand and a pair of jeans in the other. He looked up and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Derek to say or do something.

Derek finally raised his eyes, looking at the wings. He held up the towel and jeans. “I figured it wouldn’t be good to get into the bloodied clothes after you’re clean,” he said softly.

Jackson nodded and took the towel and jeans, stepping back into the bathroom. He closed the door and stripped out of his clothes, turning on the shower. He washed quickly and stepped out, drying his legs and pulling on the jeans, which needed a belt. He sighed and dried his hair, before he opened the door, keeping the towel over his head as there was nowhere else for him to place it.

Checking his phone, Jackson saw that Stiles had message him, apologizing. His father let him know that Talia had messaged him to notify him of his wings releasing. Jackson was nervous to go home, now. His parents would want to know why his wings released. Jackson wished he had an answer for them. He wasn’t entirely sure why his wings kept releasing at odd times and they were _his_ wings.

“Oh wow,” Cora breathed and Jackson looked up. Cora was staring at his wings. “They’re even prettier after they’ve been groomed. And they look so soft.”

Jackson chuckled dryly. “They aren’t, trust me,” he said and Cora blinked, looking at him. “A Fallen’s wings are also a weapon to use against others.”

“So you _are_ Fallen?” she asked and Jackson raised an eyebrow. “I figured, since you came home with Laura, but you could’ve been coming to visit Derek or Mom.” She shrugged.

Jackson nodded. He guessed she would have assumed he was Fallen. Most of the school probably thought he was Fallen, if they listened to Matt Daehler and his insane theories. “I can’t remember where the living room is. There’s a glass of orange juice in there that I think might literally have my name on it.”

Cora grinned and turned around, leading the way down the hallway, up another and into the living room. The orange juice was still on the coffee table and Jackson drank it, sighing. That was some good juice. Cora beckoned him to follow her again and he did, going to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and handed him the bottle of orange juice. Jackson grinned and refilled the glass.

Jackson turned around, trying to find somewhere to sit and let his wings rest. He heard Cora wince and turned again. Her eyes were wide and Jackson assumed she saw the gashes on his back and didn’t realize how bad they were. He wasn’t sure how much she saw at last year’s Fourth of July. He wasn’t sure how much anyone saw last year, surprised that Mister Martin didn’t bring it up.

“I really don’t pity angelesques,” Cora said as she closed the fridge and beckoned Jackson over to the table in the kitchen. She sat down and Jackson remained standing. “You can sit.”

“I can’t,” Jackson said and sipped the juice. “If I do, my wings will destroy something.”

“Oh…right. What do your parents do when this happens?”

“Metal coverings,” Jackson answered with a shrug.

Cora narrowed her eyes slightly. Jackson’s eyes widened when he felt the floorboards under his feet change. The wood was replaced with metal and the chairs changed. The table had a metal edge placed around it. She sat back and smirked, gesturing at a chair. Jackson let his wings sit normally and slipped onto one of the chairs, ignoring the way his feathers sparked against the metal.

“I don’t mean for this to sound rude, but how are you Fallen?” she asked, eyes on Jackson’s wings.

“I received a different grace,” Jackson answered with a shrug. “My grace isn’t unique to me, like other angelesques. It’s more like the grace is borrowing my body.”

“That doesn’t sound…awesome.” Cora sighed and crossed her arms on the table, gazing at Jackson.

“It really isn’t at times. Completing contracts, plus school is exhausting at times.” Jackson’s wings flapped behind him and he glanced around. Derek entered the kitchen, freezing when he saw the metal.

“Jackson’s wings could destroy the entire house,” Cora explained as Jackson lowered his head. “I figured he could relax a little if there was metal to stop that from happening.”

Derek nodded as he walked over to Cora and kissed the top of her head. “That was sweet of you,” he said and went to the coffee brewer, grabbing a mug. “Jackson, Mom messaged your parents and they said you can stay here tonight, while your back heals.”

“I’m almost certain Stiles can take me home, once he’s finished doing whatever it is he’s doing,” Jackson said, staring into his orange juice. “I can’t expect you guys to Fallen-proof your house. My parents already have this routine ready.”

“It isn’t a problem,” Cora said, smiling. “Follow me. I’ll show you the guest room!”

Jackson blinked as Cora grabbed his arm, pulling him from the chair. He raised his wings and ‘followed’ her down the hallway, down another and into a room that had carpet, a large bed and a large window that looked out into the woodland. It was beautiful, in earth tones and he didn’t want to destroy the Hale manor more than he already had. The bedframe was wood, which would be chipped at by his wings during the night.

Shaking his head, Jackson backed out of the room. “No, it’s okay. I should probably destroy my bedroom, rather than your guest room,” he said, holding his hands up as Cora spun around, hands on her hips.

“It isn’t a problem,” Derek said and Jackson spun around, his wing taking a chunk of wood from the door. Cora and Derek stared at it. “Okay, maybe a _slight_ problem.”

“I’m sorry.” Jackson raised his wings, keeping them behind him. They were almost in the angry position.

“It’s all right,” Derek said with a smile. “When Peter gets home, he can put up a protection spell. He’s good with those.” He glanced at the door and the missing chunk was replaced. “And we can fix whatever you break before then.”

Cora’s phone rang. “Oh, it’s Mel! I’ll leave you to convince him to stay the night,” she said and slipped out of the room, answering her phone.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, waiting for Derek to use his demonesque speech abilities to convince him. “Is there some way you can convince me to stay?”

“I would say a sparring match,” Derek said and smirked. “But you’re healing and your wings could probably kill me.”

“I think that just means you need to be on your toes a little more,” Jackson said, wings flapping at the idea of sparring with Derek again.

Derek shook his head. “I’ll go for your weak spot, which is your back.” He ran his eyes over Jackson’s body, staring at his hips. “Besides, I don’t think those jeans will stay up during the fight.”

Jackson shrugged. “So get me a belt. It’s been a while since I was challenged.”

Derek raised his eyes. “That’s because we never see you. You’re always out on a contract or with your friends. I can’t challenge you if I don’t see you.”

“Get me a belt.”

Derek nodded and Jackson heard him run upstairs. Jackson went to the front hall, rocking on his feet. Derek came back down a few minutes later and tossed a belt to Jackson. He slipped it through the loops and buckled it, pushing his wings back as he opened the front door. Walking down the steps, his sword materialized by his right hip. Derek stood opposite him, sword by his left hip.

Jackson frowned as Derek’s whip hovered by his right hip. It wasn’t purely leather, most of it was metal. Derek smirked and gripped the whip, cracking it and wrapping it around Jackson. He heard his wings sparking on the metal as it tightened around him. He tried to grab his sword, but the whip tightened again. Growling, Jackson brought his foot up onto the whip and pushed down on it, ripping the handle from Derek’s hand. The whip fell from his body and he gripped his sword, charging at Derek.

The demonesque grinned, spinning to the left, his sword sparking over Jackson’s wing. Jackson looked up to see the confused expression on Derek’s face. “They can stop bullets, as well,” he said and punched Derek.

Going in for another punch, Jackson huffed as his fist was caught. Derek smirked and turned Jackson around, pulling him against his body. The wings shredded the shirt he wore. “You’re going easy on me, Whittemore,” he murmured, hot breath washing over Jackson’s ear. “Don’t.”

Jackson turned around when he was pushed away. He stared at the ruined shirt that Derek was removing and frowned when he saw that the torso was fine. Pushing that to the side, he got in his stance as Derek recalled his whip to his side. The whip cracked and Jackson rushed in, not letting it wrap around him again. Derek’s eyes widened a moment, before his sword came up. Jackson grinned, gripping his second, which cut the whip and kicked Derek back.

Derek growled and Jackson’s eyes watched his movements. As it was when he challenged Scott, Derek’s power in his swings was incredible. His wings came forward, protecting him and Jackson cried out as he felt the vibrations move down the bones in his wings and into his shoulders. He pulled his wings back and brought his swords up, blocking another attack, which went straight down his arms and into his already throbbing shoulders.

Jackson’s swords fell from his hands as his shoulders gave out. Derek’s weapons vanished and he stepped around Jackson, checking his back. The wings fluttered, before they wrapped around Jackson’s shoulders and gave Derek a better view of the wounds. Jackson couldn’t feel any blood and assumed his shoulders were still sensitive from the releasing. He didn’t say any of that, as Derek’s fingers felt nice on his skin.

“I think we’ll have to call it here,” Derek said and Jackson nodded. “By the way, you owe me a new shirt.”

Jackson turned around, running his eyes over Derek’s naked torso. “Good thing they didn’t destroy all your clothing, then.” He looked up and smirked. “Even better that they didn’t destroy your good looks.”

Derek blinked and stepped back, looking down at his torso. Jackson figured he was trying to piece together what was being said. Derek’s jeans should have been shredded as much as his shirt was. Jackson wasn’t entirely sure why his jeans were still on, but he was grateful for it. He had no doubt that if Derek was naked, he would probably jump the demonesque and get both of them in trouble.

Jackson rolled his shoulders, wincing as the bone hissed at him. He picked up his swords and they vanished from his hand. “I think I might just rest out here for a little bit,” he said as he sat down, ignoring the chill of the snow melting under him.

“You can’t rest out here, Jackson,” Derek said as he moved around and crouched in front of him. “It’s going to snow again and we don’t need you getting hypothermia.”

Jackson groaned, knowing that Derek was right. He didn’t want to get hypothermia, either, but he didn’t want to move. Moving meant his shoulders would move and that was painful enough. He also knew he shouldn’t be outside without shoes on, shirtless… Jackson frowned down at himself and realized that his wings released at the most inopportune times of the year. The last time he was out in that weather was when Cora found him, walking a tree branch and trying to think of a way to never release his wings again.

As though to prove a point, a cool breeze swept past them. Jackson shivered as the chill went into the open wounds on his back and he nodded at Derek. He would have to deal with destroying the Hale manor a little, until Peter returned and could cast his protection spells. He rubbed his feet for a moment and stood up, gasping as Derek grabbed his arms and lifted him to his back easily.

Jackson’s wings wrapped around Derek as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he said softly, fingertips moving over the collarbones.

Derek glanced at the large black wings that were encasing him. “It wouldn’t do well for you to lose your feet. I think you need those for the contracts,” he said, unable to fight off a shiver.

Jackson’s legs tightened their hold around Derek’s waist as they went up to the porch. Despite being shirtless, Derek was wonderfully warm against the chill of the wind. For a few moments, he was able to ignore the pain of the wind going into his wounds. He turned his head, pressing his face into the side of Derek’s throat and closed his eyes, knowing he could happily fall asleep like that.

“Wings back,” Derek said and Jackson forced his eyes to open. He pulled his wings back and Derek opened the front door, entering the warm house. Jackson shivered and tightened his limbs around Derek. He was taken to the guest room and Jackson saw the familiar chainmail bed protector. “I think you need some sleep. We’ll wake you for dinner, if you’re up for it.”

Jackson nodded and slipped off Derek’s back. He set up the bedcovers, mostly to warm his feet and arranged the chainmail protector. He slipped under and pulled the pillows down, resting his arms under them. “Thanks,” he said and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

\--

When Jackson opened his eyes, it was because someone had entered the room. His head was turned away from the door and his shoulders tensed slightly. His wings flapped and he jumped from the bed, tackling the person in the room, sword to their throat. His wings sat behind him, large and imposing as the moonlight showed a stubbled jawline and full lips. Jackson tilted his head and looked around the room, trying to remember where he was.

“You really can’t sneak up on a Fallen,” Derek murmured and Jackson returned his eyes to the lips that were pulled up into a sly smile.

Jackson stood up, sword vanishing from his hand. “Sorry,” he said and rubbed his eyes. “Is it time for dinner?” He offered his hand to Derek, who grabbed it.

“Actually, I came in to check up on you. You slept through dinner. Laura thought you were dead.” Derek turned on the light and moved behind Jackson, checking the wounds. “I think next time we spar, we make sure you’re not injured. You slept through everything, including Stiles coming in to check up on.”

Jackson nodded and yawned. “Yeah, the releasing usually knocks me out for a few hours. The only time you _can_ sneak up on a Fallen,” he said and waited for Derek to move before he flapped his wings. His shoulders were healed and he retracted his wings. “Thanks for letting me sleep it off here.”

Derek gently touched around the healing wounds, glancing up when Jackson turned his head. “You don’t have to leave. It’s midnight.”

“Yeah, I should probably leave,” Jackson said, bringing his ethereal wings out. “Take the money you need for repairs out of my payment. You can drop the contract off later today, so my father can go through it.”

Jackson left the guest room and made his way to the front hall. He unlocked the front door and stepped out into the chilly night, shivering. Flying through that didn’t seem like a good idea, but it was much better than walking through the snow with bare feet.

“Did you want a lift?” Derek asked as he stood beside Jackson, who was staring at the snow on the ground.

Jackson shook his head, swallowing thickly at the idea of being in a small, enclosed space with Derek. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting to be so cold tonight.”

“Then let me drive you home. It can’t be good to fly through this.”

Jackson heard keys jingling and bit the inside of his lip. He sighed and nodded, stepping onto the snow, walking along the top of it, letting his wings keep him from touching it too much. He saw the lights of a black Mustang flashing and slipped into the passenger seat. He shivered as the heat came through almost immediately after the car started and he wondered if Derek knew he would be driving him home.

Derek twisted in his seat, placing his arm on the passenger seat. Jackson gasped as the fingers touched his wing and Derek froze, staring at him with wide eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jackson nodded. He wasn’t angry about the touch. He wanted more of it and pushed his wings back. “It’s fine,” he said and looked out the window.

Derek backed the car up and straightened. “Does it hurt when someone touches them?” he asked as he moved into gear and flipped on the headlights.

“You’re the first to touch them in their ethereal form,” Jackson said, suddenly feeling the way Danny did last year when Derek visited. His hands were clasped in his lap, trying to force back the hard on. “It’s different when Doc Deaton and Stiles oil my wings.” He lowered his eyes. “What’s it like if someone touches your horns?”

“I don’t know. I don’t show them for a reason.” Derek glanced at Jackson. “Just like you don’t show your halo.”

“I don’t show my halo so people don’t know what I really am.” Jackson sighed quietly. “It’s bad enough being known as Disgraced. If they knew I was Fallen…”

Derek nodded. “You don’t want them fearing you?”

Jackson lowered his eyes. “They fear me already. They fear that I might be Fallen, just hiding my halo. They fear that my Disgraced grace will get out of hand and kill them. They fear that I’ll snap and go on a killing spree, just because.” He brought his feet onto the seat. “Thankfully, I still have Danny. I’ve also got Stiles and… Well, Scott is shit scared of me now, because of you.” He turned his head and stared at Derek. “What was that about?”

Derek’s shoulders tensed, despite him trying to relax in the seat. “It was a mistake,” he said, glaring ahead.

Jackson frowned slightly as he saw Derek’s eyes turn red for a moment. “If it was, it cost me a friend. He doesn’t even want me training him after what you did to him.”

Derek’s eyes lowered for a moment, before they returned to the road. “Sorry about that.”

Jackson shrugged a shoulder. “He won her father over,” he said.

“ _That’s_ why he wanted to train with you?” Derek asked and shook his head. “Maybe he forgot that angelesques and demonesques pick mates based on battle skills. Allison is – not surprising – too good for Scott. He’s nowhere near her level.”

“Maybe she has a mentor fantasy she wants to play out,” Jackson suggest, laughing when Derek glanced at him sharply. “It’s a popular fantasy, if the porn sites are anything to go by.”

“You watch a lot of porn, then?” Derek asked with a smirk, turning onto Jackson’s street.

“I’m a Fallen. I don’t have the time to think about porn. Besides…” Jackson tilted his head back and gazed at Derek. “My imagination is far better than anything in a porn video.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Derek said as he pulled up in front of Jackson’s house. “I believe this is you.”

Jackson undid the seatbelt. He leaned over the center console and kissed the corner of Derek’s mouth, smirking as he jumped and stared at him. “Thanks,” he said as he pulled back and slipped out of the car.

Walking up to the front door, Jackson ran his tongue along his lip. Derek certainly tasted better than he thought he would. He grinned and shook his head, reaching for the handle and freezing, the grin dropping from his face. There was a knot in his stomach and his wings were getting restless. He backed up and looked at his bedroom window, his wings pressing against his muscles.

His wings tore through his back as all the windows on the house exploded. Jackson turned, raising a wing. His sword sat by his hip as he straightened and his eyes widened when he saw an angelesque standing on the roof outside of his bedroom window. A crown of thorns floated above the head, surrounded by bright blue flames and the wings stretched out to the sides, showing off their impressive size.

“Raphael,” the other said as he floated down to the ground, wings sitting behind him proudly. “It’s been a while, brother.”

“Remiel,” Jackson said as he straightened, recognizing the bright blue grace. “What are you doing here?”

A smirk curved the lips of the older Fallen as he crossed his arms. “I’m here for you, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it. Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Thanks for the comment! Yeah, I think at this point Jackson is just being stubborn and thick on purpose. Though, to be fair, it kinda makes sense, since he doesn't really speak with Derek that often. I mean, he gets jealous of Derek touching others, but that could just be hormones getting the best of him. And considering Fallens don't really advertise what deaths/destruction they're responsible for, you can understand why Laura was a little unsure using him. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello, my dear! First off, glad to know that school is going well. Secondly, you didn't miss anything. It was only brought up because Scott could see Derek's claim on Jackson. It's explained a little better next chapter, I promise. I did want to show that Jackson's parents did teach him some things about dealing with the social elite. After all, demonesques are all about conning others from their money...mostly. Honestly, I liked how Scott was in the previous chapter, too. I really didn't plan on that segment being in the story, but I'm glad I put it in. Thank you so much for you comment! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: As I said above, it'll be explained a little more in the next chapter. And it's explained by an old, familiar face that hasn't been around since...I don't know...chapter five? Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed the friendships, though I can't remember the one between Stiles, Jackson and Derek. I mean, I just wrote the story. Thank you for the comment! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! Yes, I completely agree. And that's why there's gonna be a section where they're huddled in a dark room, eating the marshmallows, knowing that they'll cry in the gym the next day. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> orannia: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much for the comment! I'm super glad that you stumbled upon this little fic, as well. Thank you so much for all the compliments (even though I know there are missing words and wish I could pick all of them up)! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well and hope to hear from you again!
> 
> To those that left kudos - Thanks a bunch! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	11. Sibling Rivalry

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Derek killed the engine of the car the moment he saw Jackson back away from his front door. He slipped out when the wings were released and the windows of the house exploded. Jackson’s sword appeared by his hip as he stared at the person standing on the roof. Derek’s eyes widened when he saw the crown of thorns halo and the impressive black wings that reflected blue in the moonlight.

The man landed in front of Jackson and the pair spoke as though they knew each other. The man’s glowing blue eyes snapped to Derek, who froze, until Jackson blocked the view. Jackson’s wings were pinned back, high and angry that someone had probably tried to threaten an innocent. Jackson looked over his shoulder and Derek saw his eyes glow red for a moment, before they were normal and he looked back at the other Fallen.

A black spear with a bright blue blade appeared in the Fallen’s hand and Jackson tilted his head. “You’ve never beaten me, Remiel,” he said and Derek frowned. “And you won’t this time.”

“The contract is on you, Raphael. Someone wants your grace removed and I was lucky enough to get it. Michael wouldn’t dare raise a hand against a brother, again. Gabriel and Uriel wouldn’t go against Michael. I had to fight Raguel for your contract.”

“We’ve been doing this for eons, Remiel,” Jackson said and Derek knew he was overhearing some old family drama. “You’re only one because Michael took you in. You refused to listen to his orders. You wouldn’t learn from him. You _can’t_ beat me.”

“Then I’ll murder everyone your host cares about!”

Derek’s eyes widened as the one called Remiel vanished. Jackson also disappeared and Derek felt the force of them meeting knock him back and across the street. Shaking his head, he heard the clashing and looked up, eyes wide as he saw two angels battling above him. There were flashes from their weapons glinting in the moonlight, but it was mostly from the impact of them colliding and pulling away. Sparks flew as wings clashed and were used as a protective barrier from the weapons.

Remiel’s eyes glowed blue in the darkness, while Jackson’s glowed silver. Both had let the grace take over them completely and Derek was surprised to see that Jackson was still only using a single blade. Remiel had his halo out, while Jackson kept his hidden. They hovered for a moment, before Remiel went in for an attack. Jackson’s sword sliced through the spear. Blue flames streaked through the night sky, eaten and destroyed by silver. Jackson wasn’t joking when he said Remiel couldn’t beat him.

There was something mature about the way Jackson held himself during the battle. His mother’s words ran through his mind. _“Don’t hold it against him because he received the grace of an angel.”_ He hadn’t questioned those words at the time, figuring she meant angelesque, which made even less sense. Fallens had always been different, their grace was different. Their magic always held a color that wasn’t normal for the elements. There was something powerful and fear-inducing about meeting a Fallen.

Derek had never felt that around Jackson, despite suspecting from the beginning. Jackson was never a threat to anyone around the town, unless there was a contract on them. He cared about people, but that could be from his grace. He had cured the hex on Peter, though not the magic that left him in a near vegetative state. No, that magic had come from Stiles Stilinski, who was working on healing the scars.

Seeing the way Jackson moved, up in the sky, beating someone his grace called ‘brother,’ was fear-inducing. That wasn’t Jackson, that was Raphael. Derek was grateful he never had to deal with that during their sparring matches. He was grateful that he could keep himself in check during their sparring matches. Jackson was a worthy ally and one that Derek wanted to claim. Jackson never showed any interest in him, aside from his prowess as a challenger. That made things simple.

The kiss that night didn’t make things simple. Derek knew he couldn’t claim Jackson as a mate without having the law thrown at him. The kid’s father was a lawyer! There was a maturity to Jackson, some of the times, that had Derek wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was older than he appeared. Knowing that his grace was from an actual angel just killed any hope of having him. Taming someone like that wasn’t possible.

Remiel was thrown down, his body impacting the front lawn. Raphael soared down after him, sword going through the chest. A scream sounded from Remiel and Derek’s eyes widened as he saw the bright blue grace float from Remiel’s mouth. Raphael stared at it, tears trickling from his eyes as he watched the life leave another, one he called family.

“ _Veniam, mi frater_ ,” he said and twisted the sword.

Derek covered his ears as there was a high-pitch ringing, closing his eyes as the grace grew brighter and brighter. In a matter of seconds, it was over. The brightness vanished and the ringing stopped. Derek lowered his hands and opened his eyes, seeing a pair of glowing silver eyes in front of him. Standing up, Derek waited to see if Raphael would say anything to him. Instead, the other just ran their eyes over him, as though looking for an injury.

Swallowing, Derek shook his head and the archangel retreated. Jackson stepped back, holding his head with a soft groan. Unsurprisingly, there were sirens making their way towards the street and Derek took hold of Jackson’s shoulders, steadying him and turning him around. He had no idea what it was like to be used like that and he could only pray he never found out. Jackson retracted his wings and stumbled a little more. Derek’s hold tightened and he gently directed Jackson over to his car.

Sheriff Stilinski arrived minutes later, Jackson sitting on the hood of Derek’s car, shivering under Derek’s jacket. Every so often, he rubbed his chest, over his heart as though something was there. Derek wanted to ask about it, but decided that it might have something to do with the fight. It was possible that Remiel managed to harm Jackson, despite there being no evidence of that.

Noah got out of the car and looked around, seeing the dead body on the front lawn. “Shit. Do I want to know?” he asked and Jackson raised his head,.

“Sibling rivalry,” he said and Derek dropped his head to hide the grin. That was one way to put it. “He was a Fallen that had a contract on me. He threatened Derek and my parents. I took him out.”

Noah’s eyes widened and he went over to the body, seeing the black wings and the single stab wound to the chest. Neighbors were coming out of their homes, woken by the lights and the flashing lights. Jackson hid his wings, pulling the jacket around himself more. Derek crossed his arms as he looked at the body of the Fallen. He honestly had no idea what to expect when two Fallens fought. He could be grateful that it didn’t get biblical on them.

“I need to take you in for a statement, Jackson,” Noah said as he returned to the pair. “Fallens don’t take contracts on each other.”

Jackson stared at Noah with tired eyes. “I just killed a brother, Sheriff. I watched his grace leave his body and join the cosmos again. I’m not in the mood to give a statement.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson,” Noah said. “I need all the details of what happened.”

“That’s all the details there are. Actually, he fought another brother for the contract on me.” Jackson shivered again and Derek got the feeling being used by his grace wasn’t a good thing. “There might be another dead Fallen if Raguel decides to avenge Remiel.”

Noah sighed and closed his eyes, clearly feeling that he wasn’t prepared to deal with something like that in the wee hours of the morning. “All right. Who attacked first?”

“The dead one,” Derek answered. “He tried to attack me.”

Noah frowned. “He tried to… Was there a contract on you?”

“No,” Jackson said and breathed on his hands. “He would have killed Derek and my parents. I wasn’t lying when I said he threatened them.”

Noah nodded slowly. “This is a mess, Jackson. Why would someone put a contract out on you?”

Jackson looked up. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe someone thinks I’m Fallen and wants to remove me. Maybe the way I held my wings insulted someone’s mother.” He shrugged.

Derek frowned and looked at Jackson’s house. “Where are your parents?” He expected them to be one of the first to rush out of the house at the sound of sirens. Or even to rush out of the house when the windows were broken.

Jackson frowned at him and slipped off the hood of the car, knees giving out. Derek caught his arm and lifted him up, waiting for him to steady himself. Jackson pulled back and jumped onto the roof, slipping into the room through the busted window. There was silence for a long while, until the front door opened and Jackson walked out, anger blazing in his eyes.

“He hexed them,” he snapped and Noah called in an ambulance and the coroner.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said and pulled Jackson into a hug, hoping to help curb his anger.

Derek sighed when Jackson jerked away from him and removed his jacket. “Take this and leave.”

“Jackson…” Derek took his jacket and shook his head. “I’m not leaving. You can’t be alone. You’re underage.”

Derek’s eyes widened as there was a blinding light of silver that seemed to engulf all of Jackson. It exploded for a few moments and then vanished. Derek blinked the spots from his eyes and when he could see, Jackson had his head lowered, tears falling from his eyes. He wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from him being told he was underage. Derek assumed he knew a sixteen year old couldn’t be left alone without permission from their parents.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said and wiped his eyes.

“It’s all right,” Noah said and wrapped an arm around Jackson’s shoulders, leading him over to the police cruiser. “You can sit here. It’s warm and I’ll see if Stiles can pick you up. You can stay with us until your parents wake up.”

“Do you need me for anything, Sheriff?” Derek asked.

“No. I’ll question you tomorrow. Drive safe, Derek. There’s some black ice near the preserve tonight.” Noah smiled, before he wrapped his Sheriff jacket around Jackson.

“I’ll visit you tomorrow, Jackson,” Derek said as he stood beside Noah. Jackson simply nodded.

Derek kept in a sigh when he realized he wasn’t going to receive an answer from Jackson. He went to his car and slipped behind the wheel as the sirens of the ambulance got closer. He maneuvered his way onto the street and returned to the preserve. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he was getting that day, as he was curious about the angels that used to fight demons. Plus, he needed to look into their magic and see if there was a way to cure an archangel hex with the archangel being dead.

* * *

Jackson stood outside the hospital room his parents were in, staring through the window without seeing anything. He was aware of nurses and doctors moving around. His blue-sheen feathers hadn’t done anything to wake them, which just infuriated him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so useless about something, aside from the whole wanting Derek freaking Hale as a mate. Hearing that forsaken word from Derek’s mouth had tipped him over an edge he didn’t realize he was standing on.

Killing a brother wasn’t something Jackson ever thought he would live through. Watching the grace leave the body, screaming in pain at being forcefully removed before its time… Hearing the pleas of it not to return it to the cosmos, where it would wander until it found the perfect host again. The grace had begged for him to show mercy and Jackson hadn’t. He knew if he did that, Remiel would murder Derek and his parents.

A hand touched his shoulder and Jackson looked at Melissa. She gave a slight smile. “Someone in the waiting area is asking for you.”

Jackson nodded and followed her down the hallway. He looked up and a choked chuckle slipped from his mouth as he ran up to the man and threw his arms around him. As weak as it was for a Fallen to give into their human emotions, Jackson didn’t care at that moment. He knew the other didn’t care, either. The hug felt warm and almost like everything would be all right in the world.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Deucalion muttered and Jackson’s arms tightened around his neck. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I needed someone to look after the horses.”

Jackson sniffed and nodded, tightening his hold on Deucalion, just in case he vanished the moment he let go. He had spent the last three days in the hospital, staring at his parents prone forms. He had watched as doctors, shamans, witch doctors, apothecaries, wiccans, witches, those ‘possessed by the Holy Spirit’ and ‘possessed by Satan himself’ parade through the room. None of them had done anything remotely helpful.

Stiles had taken samples of blood and tissue, running his analysis, along with Lydia. They had worked almost non-stop for the past three days, trying to find some clue as to what the hex was. They hadn’t come up with anything, but Jackson was just grateful they were trying.

Melissa cleared her throat and Jackson reluctantly released Deucalion. He wiped his cheeks and accepted the tissue from Melissa. “Sorry, this is Deucalion. He’s my mentor,” he said, wiping his nose.

“Your mentor? I’m Melissa McCall,” she said and held her hand out.

Deucalion shook it. “I’m here to look after Jackson while his parents are…incapacitated for the moment,” he said. Melissa raised an eyebrow. “Who do I speak to for that?”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Melissa answered. “Can you make sure he eats something and gets some sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Jackson snapped.

“Yeah, you sound it, kid,” Deucalion said and pulled Jackson out of the hospital. “What happened? Your voice message just said that your parents were hexed.”

“Remiel,” Jackson answered and sniffed. “Someone put a contract out on me and he accepted it.”

“Why would someone put a contract out on you, kid? Who have you pissed off?”

“I don’t know! I’ve killed so many that it could be _anyone_!” The town quaked as Jackson glared at the sidewalk.

“Enough,” Deucalion said and slapped Jackson upside the head.

The quaking stopped and Jackson stared up at his mentor. “I’m going to find whoever it was.”

Deucalion placed an arm around Jackson’s shoulders and pulled him further down the sidewalk. “I have no doubt that you’ll kill them, too.”

Jackson glared ahead. “Slowly and as painfully as possible.”

Deucalion nodded and pulled Jackson up and down streets, until he found a café. “Now, if I know your kind like I do, you’ll have obsessed over what happened and not eaten. What do you feel like?”

Jackson stared at the menu. “A hamburger, with fries…and a chocolate shake.”

Deucalion raised an eyebrow, but nodded and decided to go with the same thing. He paid for the order and pulled Jackson over to a table, giving them as much privacy as he could in a crowded area. Jackson sat down and stared out the window they were sitting in front of, watching the people passing by that were talking about the earthquake that suddenly hit them.

As they waited, Deucalion stared at Jackson. “You seem different,” he said and Jackson blinked at him. “A little more tense than usual and it has nothing to do with killing a brother or what’s going on with your parents.”

“Probably school, then,” Jackson muttered and went back to staring blankly out the window.

Deucalion ran his eyes over Jackson, eyes focusing on a black ring around his thumb. “Where did that come from?” he asked, nodding at the ring.

“It was something I made, while I waited for news on my parents,” Jackson answered, looking at the ring. It was a basic black band with intertwining silver lines around it. He wasn’t sure why he made it, but it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t what happened.

“Looks a little big for you,” Deucalion said as their shakes were placed in front of them. He smiled at the waitress. “Did you make it with someone else in mind?”

“I don’t think so,” Jackson muttered and sipped the shake, closing his eyes as the sugar hit his stomach. He probably should have waited for the food to arrive before he did that.

Deucalion smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Mm,” he hummed, moving the straw in his shake. “What’s their name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jackson answered, turning his eyes to the table. “He’s six years older than me. By the time I’m legal, he’ll probably have found someone else. Someone better.”

Deucalion kicked Jackson’s ankle, which had him glaring at his mentor. “There’s no one better than you, kid,” he stated and Jackson frowned.

“You dying, old timer? I don’t think you’ve ever said something that nice to me.” Jackson shuddered. “Don’t do it again. It’s creepy.”

Their food was placed in front of them and Deucalion smiled at the waitress again. She returned it and walked off with a sway in her hips. “Too bad, kid. You’re going to listen to this. Does he know about you?”

“Yep.” Jackson added ketchup to his burger, while eating the fries.

“Then there’s no one else better than you.” Deucalion also added ketchup to his burger. “They’ll be lucky for you to claim them as a mate.”

“If you saw him, you’d understand why I don’t have a chance with him,” Jackson said and pulled out his phone. He brought up Derek’s Facebook page and opened up his profile picture, which apparently Laura had taken for him. “That’s him.”

Deucalion looked at the phone and raised an eyebrow. “He’s handsome. And you said he beat you?”

Jackson pouted. “Only because my wings chose that night to manifest. He beat me again, four days ago. My wings released that day. That’s the only time he beats me.”

“He’s holding back, then,” Deucalion said and Jackson frowned at him. “That’s Derek Hale, isn’t it?” Jackson nodded. “I’ve met him. I trained him for six months after the car fire that injured his uncle.” He ate a fry, gazing at Jackson. “He’s a lot more powerful than you think he is. He’s a good match for you.”

“You have no idea how many are panting after him. I’m just some kid that has a crush.” Jackson exited Facebook and locked his phone, taking a bite of the burger. He moaned as it hit his stomach and wolfed down the rest of it.

Deucalion watched him and shook his head, pushing his barely touched plate over to Jackson. “How many of those that are panting after him are Fallen?”

Jackson looked up, mouth wrapped around the burger. He pulled it back and raised an eyebrow. “I’m the only Fallen in Beacon Hills,” he said quietly. “Just because I’m Fallen doesn’t make me better than someone else that could… Oh, I don’t know, give him children.”

“If he wanted children, he wouldn’t have placed a claim on you as a potential mate,” Deucalion said and Jackson frowned. “You can’t see it, but others can.”

Jackson sat back, thinking about the others he had seen. He didn’t know what a claim looked like, so he wasn’t sure if anyone had one. “What do they look like? The claims.”

“You’ve never seen one?”

“Not that I know.”

“You don’t see anyone else as a potential mate, aside from Derek.” Deucalion smiled and patted Jackson’s hand. “I haven’t seen his claim on anyone else. Does that make you feel better?”

Jackson frowned, jumping slightly when his phone vibrated. He checked the message from Danny, who was asking where he was. He sent back the name of the café and sighed. “My best friend. He figured out that I was Fallen because my stupid wings released without permission,” he explained as he locked his phone.

“What were you doing when that happened?” Deucalion asked, trying to sound curious, but Jackson knew he was being sly.

“I was in the pool, last Fourth of July. Derek was behind me, my ethereal wings touched him and my real ones decided that was the perfect time to rip out and scar everyone in the pool.” Jackson sighed and shook his head. “Danny realized I wasn’t Disgraced when that happened. I think he always knew, but that just confirmed it.”

“He sounds like a good guy. I’m glad there’s someone you can trust with that.” Deucalion leaned forward. “Have your wings released early around Derek since then?”

“Nearly every time he touches me,” Jackson said, feeling heat creeping up to his cheeks. “I’d almost prefer to pop a boner every time he touched me. It’d be far less painful and easier to explain away.” He sighed and sat back. “I guess I don’t need to worry about that, anymore.”

“Have you shown him your halo?” Jackson shook his head. “Has he shown you his horns?”

Jackson frowned and shook his head again. “I want to see them,” he said and shrugged.

“They’re impressive,” Deucalion said, eyes staring at the top of Jackson’s head. “That’s what his claim looks like. His horns on you.”

Jackson blinked at Deucalion. He had no idea what Derek’s horns looked like, so he could be seeing his claim on others and not know it. He assumed they were silver, but that color wasn’t restricted to Derek only. There would be others that had silver horns and tails. Still, he liked the idea of Derek placing a claim on him. At least he knew the demonesque was interested.

“So you made the ring for Derek?” Deucalion dropped his eyes to the ring on Jackson’s thumb.

Jackson shrugged and crossed his arms. “Thinking about him calmed me down, before I made the hospital look like a nuke site,” he said, hiding the ring under his arm.

“You mentioned being legal,” Deucalion said as their plates were collected. “Could we get two more shakes, please?” he asked the waitress and Jackson was surprised at how charming his smile was.

“Of course,” she said with a pretty smile.

When she walked off, Jackson smirked at Deucalion. “You’ve got the moves, old timer.”

“It doesn’t hurt to make someone’s day a little brighter. Besides, my grace was tainted by my demonesque upbringing. They’re all about manipulating and reading people.” Deucalion smiled. “And she likes my wings.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “How do you think she’ll feel about mine?” he asked innocently and laughed at the glare Deucalion gave him.

“Don’t cock-block me, kid,” he warned.

Jackson grinned and leaned forward, about to ask what would happen if he did that when Danny walked through the door. Jackson stood up and ran to his best friend, hugging him tightly. His eyes widened when he saw Stiles and Derek were with him. He hugged Stiles and nodded at Derek, not really wanting his wings to release in a crowded café.

“We were all at the hospital when I texted to you. I hope you don’t mind. They would have followed me,” Danny said with a sheepish grin.

“Course not,” Jackson said, taking Danny and Stiles’ hand and pulling them over to the table. “You guys have to meet someone! You already know him, Derek.”

Derek frowned and followed them, eyes widening when he saw the black wings. Danny and Stiles stared at the wings long before they realized they were attached to someone. As Jackson was their only experience around black wings, they fell into silence, as though trying to piece together information. It was as if they wanted to see if they could deduce for themselves whether or not Deucalion was Fallen.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “He’s Disgraced,” he said and slapped their shoulders. “This is Deucalion, my mentor from over east.”

Deucalion stood up and shook their hands as they introduced themselves. He smirked at Derek and pulled the demonesque in for a hug. “It’s been too long, Derek,” he said. “You’ve definitely grown up.” Derek’s smile froze as he stared at Deucalion’s throat, before his eyes moved to Jackson. “Don’t worry. He hugged me,” he whispered.

Danny and Stiles glanced at them and then at Jackson, their eyes widening as they stared at his head. Danny’s face broke out into a goofy grin and he hugged Jackson tightly, as though Jackson had just announced that he was getting married. Jackson returned the hug and let out a pained groan as Stiles practically spear-tackled him from the side, hugging him just as tightly as Danny.

Once he was released, Jackson sat in the chair and rubbed his ribs. He wasn’t going to ask, as he didn’t want to know. He needed to focus on his parents and a way to heal them. The other three joined them, pulling chairs from other tables and sat down.

Stiles stared at Deucalion. “So why were you picked to train Jacks?” he asked and Jackson raised an eyebrow.

“My late wife was the same as him,” Deucalion answered, sipping his milkshake. He looked at Stiles. “Until I killed her.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he glanced at Jackson, as though he could somehow tell him if that was true or not. Jackson shrugged. “She got a contract on him,” he said.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed and returned his wide eyes to Deucalion. “I’m sorry, man. That really sucks.” He turned his eyes to Jackson. “I felt it, by the way. When you fought that Fallen.”

“So did I,” Danny said. “It felt like a war was coming.”

“There’s a reason why Fallens don’t accept contracts on each other,” Deucalion said as he finished his shake and smiled at the waitress as she came over, raising an eyebrow at the other three. “Did you want something to eat or drink?”

Stiles’ eyes lit up and he grinned. “Can I get a vanilla shake, cheeseburger and a double order of fries, please?”

“Another chocolate shake for me, please,” Jackson said with a tired smile.

“I’ll get the bacon cheeseburger, fries and a strawberry shake. Thanks,” Derek said.

“The garden salad and a bottle of water for me,” Danny said with a grin. The others stared at him. “What? I’ve got to watch my weight. I’m on the lacrosse team.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as the waitress wrote down their orders and nodded. Stiles glanced at Jackson and frowned at the ring. “What’s that?” he asked.

Slipping his hands under the table, Jackson shrugged. “Nothing,” he said. “I was just playing with my grace and created it.”

Danny smirked and grabbed Jackson’s hand, looking at the ring. “It’s pretty. Looks a little big for you, though.”

Jackson ducked his head as he felt his ears and cheeks burn. He pulled his hand free and slipped it under the table again. He should have known the others would notice it and that Danny would bring it up. Danny seemed to get the message, but Stiles stood beside him and grabbed his hand, looking at the ring. He hummed quietly, running a thumb around the black metal.

“You made this with someone else in mind,” Stiles said.

Jackson’s eyes widened and he wrapped a hand around Stiles’ throat, bringing him down until their eyes were level. “Mention that again and I’ll hurt you,” he warned.

Stiles nodded and Jackson released him. “I forgot how dangerous you can be,” he said with a cough, rubbing his throat. He sat down and groaned. “Hopefully no one will ask about the bruises.”

“I’m sure you can just say sex got a little rough,” Derek said with a shrug.

Danny and Jackson stared at Stiles, who turned almost tomato red as he glared at Derek. “Sex, huh?” Danny asked with a grin. “Does Scott know about this?”

“Who is it?” Jackson asked, smirking. “Is it anyone we know?”

Stiles ducked his head as their shakes were placed on the table. Deucalion shook his head. “Leave him alone, kids. Let a boy have his secrets.”

Jackson huffed and nodded, eyes going to Deucalion’s wings that were sitting a little higher than normal. He frowned and tilted his head, surprised he didn’t notice how glossy they were before. His eyes went to Stiles’ wings and saw that they needed an oiling. Danny’s were still glossy, as though they were oiled the day before. His eyes moved to Derek, who was sipping his shake and checking his phone.

“You said there’s a reason why Fallens don’t take contracts on each other,” Jackson said, eyes sliding back to Deucalion. “I felt it. The power between the two of us as we fought… It was awesome.”

Deucalion nodded. “Every angelesque, Fallen and Disgraced would have felt the fight. Two imposing forces meeting and fighting is never a good thing. Beacon Hills is lucky it wasn’t destroyed. Why did Remiel want to take your contract?”

Danny’s eyes widened and he stared at Jackson. “You never said there was a contract on you.”

“That’s because there isn’t anymore,” Jackson said with a shrug.

Stiles turned to Derek. “What was it like to see two Fallens fight?” he asked.

Derek glanced at Jackson. “Terrifying. Amazing. Frightening.”

Jackson lowered his eyes, moving the straw in his shake. He could still feel the blade through his heart, from when he killed Remiel. He could still hear the cries and the begging. He could still his parents laying dead still, barely breathing when he entered their room. He remembered the shock and pain that his blue-sheened feather did nothing to help them. He was completely useless in saving them.

“Excuse me,” Jackson said as he stood up and made his way through the café, needing to wash his face.

In the bathroom, he washed his face and closed his eyes. He was so emotional for a Fallen. Caring about his parents wasn’t a good thing. Whoever had put the contract out on him would know they were a vulnerable spot for him. They could be used against him again and they might be killed the next time.

The door to the bathroom began to open and Jackson disappeared into a stall. He used tissue paper to dry his face and wipe his eyes, growling when there was a knock on the stall door. “It’s occupied, asshole,” he snapped, grateful that he didn’t sound like a crying teenager. The ring around his thumb warmed. The knock happened again and Jackson ripped open the door, glaring.

Whatever he was about to say disappeared as he stared into Derek’s concerned eyes. He jerked back from the touch, feeling his wings moving under his muscles. He slammed the stall door and pressed his back to it, just wanting a few minutes alone so he could cry and move on with his life. He heard Derek do the same thing on the other side.

“My Dad was killed when I was young. Cora had just been born and he was murdered, while he was buying more formula for her,” Derek said quietly and Jackson turned his head, staring at the stall door. “We don’t know who did it or why. All I know is that one day, he was just gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson whispered and lowered his eyes.

“It doesn’t hurt as much for me,” Derek said and Jackson felt the door move as he shifted. “It hurts more for Laura, because she had the longest with him. I mostly remember him grinning when I entered the living room. Cora never got any memories of him.”

“My real parents were killed in a car crash,” Jackson said and sighed. “My mother was kept alive long enough to birth me. I found that out two years ago, when my wings and halo came in. Being told I’m adopted _and_ a Fallen was not a good time.” He wiped a falling tear from his eye with the heel of his palm and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Sometimes, I want to think about how my real parents would react to me being Fallen. I want to wonder how different my life would be if I was never adopted.”

“Why don’t you? Why not think about it?”

“If they hadn’t died, I never would have met Danny. I never would have met your family, Stiles or Scott. I probably wouldn’t even be Fallen.” _I probably wouldn’t have fallen for you._ Jackson raised his eyes, staring the wall opposite him. “There’s no point in thinking about what _might_ have been. I just have to deal with the shit of what _is_.”

“Is being Fallen really that much of a hassle?”

“Just when it’s ironic,” Jackson answered and he could almost feel Derek’s confusion. “I take out bloodlines for a living. I murder people that probably have children and mates waiting for them. I should have guessed that something like that would happen to me, eventually. I just never thought it would.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to that,” Derek whispered and Jackson nodded.

“There isn’t. My grace decided I was mature enough to handle this possibly happening. I guess I just need to grow up and get over it.” Jackson closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to his knees. “I can’t seem to, though.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having emotions, Jackson. Your grace removes your guilt. It doesn’t change who you are or who you were.”

“It doesn’t remove my guilt,” Jackson said and opened his eyes. “If I didn’t have guilt, I’d have…” He trailed off before he could finish that sentence and make things awkward between them again. “I’d have no issue with what happened to my parents. They were targeted because of me.”

“They were targeted because a Fallen took a contract on another Fallen. He wanted to prove something to himself and he used innocent people in order to accomplish that. Killing him was probably the best thing you could’ve done.”

Jackson turned his head, looking at the stall door. “You didn’t feel a brother die, Derek. You didn’t feel your own blade piece his heart. You didn’t hear him scream and beg for mercy.”

“Would he have shown you mercy?”

“My grace was his older brother. I should have known better.”

“Except it wasn’t Jackson that fought Remiel. It was Raphael. You just have to live with the fallout of what your grace is capable of and what it does.” There was a small silence as Jackson realized he had nothing to say to that. “If he wasn’t so hell bent on trying to prove something to himself, Remiel would still be alive.”

Jackson turned, staring at the door. That actually made a lot of sense and he didn’t like that it was working on removing his guilt over killing another Fallen. He had no idea how to contact any of the other Fallens, just to see what they thought about it. He had a strange urge to find the one that held Michael’s grace and speak with them. He assumed that was because Michael was like the older brother to all of them.

That should have been the first thought to enter his head. Remiel felt like he needed to prove something to someone, probably just himself. Michael had turned down the contract, which should have been the final word for the other Fallens. It seemed that Remiel and Raguel wanted to take out Raphael, which had Jackson worried. He hadn’t felt the death of a Fallen, which meant that Raguel was still out there. He could try to complete the contract or to avenge Remiel.

Jackson lowered his eyes, wishing he could touch Derek without the pain of his wings releasing. Instead, he sighed softly and removed the ring. He had used his grace to create the ring and he wasn’t sure if Derek would even like it. The ring was so simple, but he figured Derek would like something like that. He didn’t seem to like things too flashy, except his car. However, he went with a Mustang instead of a Porsche. Jackson wasn’t sure who was the flashier of them.

Shaking his head, Jackson slipped the ring into the pocket of his jeans. He wasn’t going to think about how many pieces of jewelry Derek had received from possible suitors and he needed to get Deucalion to the Sheriff. As he wasn’t crying anymore, he stood and opened the door. Derek stood up and looked at him for a moment, before he stepped back and let Jackson leave the stall.

After washing his hands, Jackson turned to Derek. “Thanks. Though next time, could you let Danny follow me?”

“How did you—?”

“I know Danny,” Jackson said and smiled. “He can at least touch him without pain and it isn’t creepy if we hug.”

Derek nodded and washed his hands. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, with your parents still being out,” he said and rolled his shoulders. “I should probably get Stiles back to my place. Good to see you’re doing better.”

Jackson nodded as Derek left the bathroom. He sighed and shook his head, following a few minutes later. He sat down at the table, Danny staring at him. “Don’t even go there. We spoke,” he said and finished his shake.

Deucalion’s eyes dropped to Jackson’s hand and the lack of ring. “We should probably see the Sheriff,” he said as he stood up and dropped his cash onto the table. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Danny.”

“You also, sir,” Danny said as he and Jackson stood, heading for the door of the café. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Jackson said as he turned his head up towards the sun and closed his eyes. He returned the hug from Danny and opened his eyes, watching as his best friend waved and walked up the street. Deucalion joined him and Jackson crossed his arms. “There’s something I need you to teach me.”

Deucalion frowned, wings flapping behind him. “What would that be, kid?”

Jackson smirked, staring across the street. “How to torture someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it! Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Guest1701: Glad to know you enjoyed it. And of course there would be a cliffhanger. Had to make you want it. I apologize that it took so long to update it. Also, I only just saw your comment before. I have several teams that I go for, but in order - Detroit, Boston, Chicago, Columbus and Edmonton. Thank you so much for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this one! Also, thanks for the hearts!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Trust me, your English is still amazing! Yes, the fight scenes are pretty much sex scenes between those two. They do pick mates based on their battle prowess and I don't think those two are gonna find anyone on par with them. Derek's horns will be explained eventually. Patience, young one. Thank you so much for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Thanks so much for the comment! I'm so glad to see that you're enjoying it this much. Honestly, I did think about just making it physical between them and having their mates be someone else, but then I realized that I love Halemore way too much and just want to see them together. Of course there was a sneaky kiss in there. Had to give the fans something. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you so much for the hearts! And yes, place your bets. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> Guy Fawkes: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much for the comment. Of course. Not fic is complete without at least one mention of Bob Ross. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> orannia: Thank you so much for the comment and the hearts! I hope this answered your question and I must say, don't worry too much about the library. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well and hope to hear from you again!
> 
> TF2: Hello and welcome! I'm super glad that you stumbled across this little fic. I'm happy that you're enjoying and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Hope to hear from you again!
> 
> To those that left kudos - thanks a bunch! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	12. Mentor's Frustration

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Deucalion was silent, regarding Jackson, who gazed right back at him. Jackson got the feeling that Deucalion was trying to figure out if he was serious or not. Jackson was. He would go through the town, forcing information out of everyone. Someone was targeting him and by extension, everyone he cared about. Danny, Stiles and Scott were only children and Jackson wasn’t going to have a parent outlive their child.

Wrapping an arm around Jackson’s shoulders, Deucalion pulled him up the street. Jackson frowned and wondered if Deucalion was taking him somewhere to show him what torture was. He wasn’t getting a threatening vibe from his mentor and assumed his mind was running wild, thanks to the hell that was his life in the past few days. They walked and Jackson pulled Deucalion in the direction of the station. The least they could do was get that done, so Jackson could take Deucalion home and they could talk in private.

As they passed a pizza parlor, Jackson growled when someone knocked his shoulder. He glared at the smirking face of Matt. “Disgraced,” he spat and turned his eyes to Deucalion, seeing his black wings. “Oh great. You’re breeding.”

Jackson tried to kill Matt right there. The little puke could say whatever he wanted about him, but Jackson refused to let the bastard speak ill of his friends. If Matt was that way with Deucalion, Jackson didn’t want to know what he would say or do around Danny or Stiles. Just knowing that he could hex so easily was enough for Jackson to decide he was a threat to the people of Beacon Hills.

Unfortunately, Deucalion kept hold of him. “It’s all right, kid. He’s only demonesque. He’s gotta make himself feel good for being… _common_ ,” he said and smirked as Matt’s horns and tail shimmered into reality.

When Matt didn’t say anything else, Deucalion and Jackson continued on their way. “Sorry about him,” Jackson said as they turned a corner. “He’s been on me like a two dollar whore since it went around town that I was Disgraced.”

“Why?”

“No idea. For some reason, he thinks he’s better than me.” Jackson curled his lip back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s the one I asked about during summer. The pure demonesque that I’m certain dosed Derek and put his uncle into a coma,” he explained.

Deucalion was quiet for a moment, looking over his shoulder. He placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, making him look up from staring down at the pavement. “You’re better for Derek than that little puke stain,” he said and Jackson grinned.

He never realized how alike he was with Deucalion. The man didn’t hold anything back on what he thought about someone. While Jackson would never say that to Matt’s face, even though he desperately wanted to, he could enjoy the knowledge that Deucalion felt the same way. He had no idea what Matt’s problem with him was and he really didn’t care, but if he didn’t stop trying to force his halo out, Jackson couldn’t be held liable for what he might do.

Their walk to the station was done mostly in silence, with Jackson answering questions about the town. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew the best places to hide bodies. He knew the most used trails and how to avoid them during all hours of the day. Deucalion looked at him, pride shining in his eyes at that knowledge, as though he had bodies to hide.

They entered the station and Noah spun around, staring at Deucalion’s black wings for a long moment, before he sighed and stepped into the waiting area. “Another Fallen, Jacks?” he inquired quietly, making sure no one was around as he beckoned the pair to follow him to his office.

Inside, Deucalion sat down, pulling a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. “I’m Disgraced, actually. I’ll also be Jackson’s legal guardian until his parents are out of the hospital,” he explained and handed the paper to Noah, who raised an eyebrow at him.

As the adults spoke, Jackson tilted his head. He was almost certain he could hear someone speaking to him and shook his head. The ring in his pocket warmed and he went to the window that looked out over the street. As he watched the cars and trucks drive past, he tried to think of a way to get the information he needed out of Matt. Torture would probably raise questions of how reliable it was. Coercion and fear of death rarely held up to the law.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Jackson thought about Stiles’ unique angelesque ability. He could tell when someone was lying. Jackson wasn’t sure how well that would work against a pure demonesque, but he had no issue telling when a Fallen was lying. As Jackson didn’t bother to hide the truth, most of the time, Stiles probably had a good radar for when he was omitting something. Would he know the same thing with Matt?

Exposing Stiles to Matt alone wasn’t something that Jackson wanted. It was only a matter of time before Matt turned his attention to Jackson’s friends, which put Danny and Stiles in danger of his hexes and potions. Lydia was too smart to fall for anything that Matt could try with her. Allison might also be at risk, as she tried to see the good in Matt, almost like she pitied him. Derek had already dropped Matt as a student, unsure of why he took the teen to the Whittemore Christmas party.

Turning his back to the window, Jackson saw Noah shake Deucalion’s hand and nod. Apparently, the paper was legit and Deucalion was his guardian for the near future. Jackson smiled as Noah hugged him, telling him to call if there were any problems with anything. Jackson nodded and stepped out of the office, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His fingers brushed the ring and he sighed softly.

“So,” Deucalion said as they left the station. “What are the pizza joints like around here, kid?”

Jackson smirked. “Better than butt-fuck nowhere, old timer.”

Deucalion laughed and wrapped an arm around Jackson’s shoulders, pulling him close. “We’ll see about that. Is there somewhere we can train? I need to see what the last year has done for your skills, kid.”

Jackson nodded and turned Deucalion towards the preserve. “It’s not just good for hiding bodies,” he said when Deucalion raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I might have to hide yours there.”

“You better pick a pretty spot for me, kid,” Deucalion warned and Jackson rested his head on his shoulder.

\--

The spot Jackson picked was beautiful in the spring. The way the sun filtered through the trees during sunrise or sunset was breathtaking. As Deucalion looked around, Jackson checked his phone. Lydia and Stiles were messaging him, telling him that they still hadn’t found anything. Jackson wasn’t holding his breath on that, but he thanked them and turned his phone off, as he didn’t need any distractions.

Deucalion finished his inspection and nodded at Jackson, as though Jackson wouldn’t pick a pretty spot to bury him. Deucalion’s staff wavered into existence, hovering by his right thigh. Jackson’s sword hovered by his right hip and he crossed his arms, smirking at Deucalion who stared at him, before he grinned and hovered. Jackson blinked and tilted his head, his ethereal wings shimmering into reality.

He hadn’t seen much of his fight with Remiel, letting his grace take over completely, but he had to admit, he hadn’t thought of fighting in the air. Their wings flapped as they went up higher, staying within the trees. Deucalion’s staff streaked for him and Jackson caught it, sending his flames along it. Deucalion nodded, water moving along the staff, which became steam as Jackson’s flames evaporated it.

With another nod, Deucalion pulled his whip from Jackson’s hand and beckoned him to start the attack. Jackson grinned, gripping his sword, wings folding behind him as he rushed at his mentor. The impact of him meeting Deucalion sent his mentor flying through the trees. Jackson’s eyes flashed as he chased, sword by his hip as he wasn’t looking to kill the Disgraced. He needed to keep Deucalion alive long enough to be his guardian.

Deucalion steadied himself and frowned as he was punched down to the ground. His wings caught him and he charged up to meet Jackson, who kicked him down again. Deucalion groaned, wings flapping as he turned around and went up for another charge. He slipped to the right and Jackson caught his arm, turning around and slipping behind his mentor, twisting the arm up. Deucalion gritted his teeth and Jackson smiled, shoving the man away.

Flexing his arm, Deucalion gripped his staff again and beckoned Jackson to him. Jackson tilted his head and charged at him, their weapons meeting. Jackson kicked him back, wincing as he broke through a few branches. “Sorry!” he called and gave chase, finding Deucalion standing on a branch, rubbing his back and testing his wings. “I forget my strength, sometimes…and how frail your body is, old timer.”

Deucalion glared at him, stretching his wings, before he jumped up. Jackson followed him, going above the treetops. Deucalion smiled thinly and Jackson rolled his shoulders, his wings flapping, ready to dodge or run. The staff segmented and Jackson cut the chain, frowning. Deucalion had to remember that his sword could do that, which made that attack strange to him.

His eyes widened as the broken segment wrapped around his ankle, pulling him down. His wings flapped, fighting against the force that was trying to drag him down. He defended against the attack from the staff Deucalion held, trying to unwrap the part around his ankle. Growling, he flew up, going up higher than he ever had before, faster than he had before, as well. He almost felt the snap of Deucalion’s control over the broken segment and pulled it from his ankle, letting it drop again.

Turning around, Jackson fell headfirst back towards the earth. The air was cold and thin that high up. His wings spread and he hovered, frowning around. Deucalion wasn’t where he left him and he spun around, deflecting an arrow. Deucalion was standing with the sun at his back and Jackson grinned, grateful that his mentor remembered something from their sparring matches.

His eyes widened as he was speared in the side and sent flying towards the middle of the preserve. He frowned around, trying to find what attacked him and rubbed his ribs, which he knew were bruised. Deucalion had used a decoy, which was something Jackson hadn’t even considered. He took in the three Deucalion copies that appeared in front of him and smirked, focusing on the one to his left. His brow furrowed slightly when three others appeared behind him and he glanced around.

His second sword materialized by his left hip and he grabbed it, watching as many of the copies as he could. Two of them rushed him and he blocked their attacks, crying out when the staff whip wrapped around his waist, the metal spikes biting into his flesh and drawing blood. He snarled, kicking away the two clones and cut the whip, sending the broken segment up in flames.

Rushing at the one he was certain was Deucalion, Jackson glared as the staff blocked his swords. He grinned and kicked Deucalion down to the earth, following him. He landed on his mentor, imprinting him into the earth, his swords in Deucalion’s wrists. He grinned, which dropped almost immediately when the body wavered away. He jumped forward, rolling onto his feet as an arrow pierced the ground.

He jumped back when another arrow was fired at him, frowning when he hit something metal. His eyes widened when he saw he was resting against a black Mustang. He turned around and found Derek and Scott staring at him. He smiled and nodded, jumping up and groaned as he was smacked down, three times by the clones. He coughed and groaned as he landed on his stomach. He rolled onto his back, spreading his legs as another arrow was fired, barely missing a sensitive part of his anatomy.

“Having fun, then?” Scott asked and grinned, probably grateful to see someone getting the better of Jackson.

Glaring at his classmate, Jackson jumped to his feet, connecting his swords. He caught an arrow fired at him and snapped it, glaring in the direction it came from. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he thought on his flames wrapping around the wrists of the bow-wielder. He smirked when Deucalion shouted and ran towards him, gripping the front of his shirt and throwing him towards the Hale manor. His swords separated as he jumped up and landed on his mentor.

Gripping his right sword, Jackson turned around and decapitated a clone coming up behind him, keeping a foot on Deucalion’s throat. He deflected a fireball that came from above, letting it split along his sword, wings arching behind him as he grinned down at Deucalion. “That all you got, old timer?”

Deucalion grinned and Jackson frowned, bringing his sword up as Scott swung at him. He jumped back and frowned as Scott and Derek smiled at him. “Spear form for your blades,” Deucalion said and Jackson frowned as something covered his eyes. “Don’t let Raphael out,” he whispered and Jackson nodded as his ears were blocked.

Connecting his swords together, Jackson felt the three of them watching him. The spear hovered along his right arm as he moved slowly, getting a feel for where the others were. He spun to the side as Scott went in for an attack, punching him across the jaw. He knew that Deucalion and Derek would be the most threatening. Fingers brushed across the nape of his neck and he frowned, turning his head to the left.

Smirking, Jackson gripped his spear and swung it up at Derek. He could feel their blades meeting and deflecting his blows. He shoved a blade into the ground, using his wings to give him more speed as he swung around it and kicked Derek somewhere in the head. He knew it was the head as his foot was aching afterwards. Behind the blindfold, his eyes widened and he stepped back, blocking against Derek’s attacks.

He grabbed Derek’s wrist and pulled him close. “You’re going easy on me, Hale,” he whispered against his cheek, before kicking him back. He spun around, the back of his fist connecting with Scott’s cheek. “Just stay down, McCall. It’ll only get worse for you.”

Derek’s swings after that were powerful and Jackson was forced back. He gasped as he was punched hard enough to take him down to a knee. He spat out the blood and glared in the general area that Derek was last in, wings rising up behind him. Finally, Derek was taking a spar session with him seriously. He could feel his grace tingling through his body, almost building in its intensity, before he pushed it back. Deucalion had told him to win the spar as Jackson and he would do that.

Standing, Jackson backed up a few steps and waited. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, taking in his stance. He was on the balls of his feet, right hand out with his spear hovering under the palm. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the scent of leather, sweat and something else, like a heat. The gaze was intense, waiting for him to attack and Jackson tilted his head, almost seeing the way Derek was standing. He had one foot back, ready to anchor him against an attack, sword was parallel to the ground and shoulders were tense.

Opening his eyes, they flashed playfully as the earth rose behind Derek’s anchor foot and wrapped around him the moment Jackson went in for the attack. He could almost hear Derek’s growl as his spear connected with his sword and he tried to move back. He raised his right arm to block the punch, which hit his wrist. He winced and raised his leg to kick Derek away, but it was caught and his supporting leg was swept out from under him. He landed with a hard thud on the ground, a cold blade to his throat and warm breath brushing his face. He lost.

The blindfold was removed and Jackson blinked against the light, frowning as he could hear everything around him again. He stared up at Derek, before his eyes moved up to the sterling silver impala horns that were coming from his head. His eyes widened and his lips parted in a soft gasp. He could feel something wrapped around his thigh and figured that was Derek’s tail, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the horns. They were magnificent.

Blinking, he focused on Derek’s face and realized the demonesque was still on top of him. He found that his wings had wrapped around Derek, locking him in place. The tail around his thigh tightened and Jackson’s eyes widened as his wings moved around in their fleshy cage, pulling his wings away and pushing Derek back. He was rock hard and Derek’s tail was still around his thigh and the demonesque wasn’t giving him much breathing space.

Derek blinked and the tail was removed from Jackson’s thigh. He pulled back entirely and Jackson shivered at the loss of warmth and because the melting snow beneath him finally registered. Derek’s tail and horns disappeared, along with his weapon and Jackson winced as his wings moved again. Deucalion crouched beside him and Jackson looked at him, frowning as Deucalion smirked.

“Your eyes are red,” Deucalion said and Jackson blinked, looking back at Derek. Their eyes met and they both looked elsewhere. Deucalion sighed. “Just give him the ring, kid.”

“I can’t,” Jackson muttered as Derek said, “He can’t.”

Deucalion frowned between the pair. “Why?”

Jackson sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I’m sixteen,” he said as he felt his body calm down. His wings stopped trying to free themselves and the erection between his legs disappeared. “He’s twenty-two.”

Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “And? That just means he can’t penetrate you until you’re eighteen.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and Scott groaned, both of them blushing. Derek cleared his throat and crossed his arms, all of them deciding that hearing it wasn’t something they wanted. Jackson already knew there was a great deal he couldn't do, due to his young age. His father was a lawyer and he had a fair understanding of the law. He just didn’t want to hear those words from Deucalion.

Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” he said with a shrug, not surprised when Jackson snarled, hand around his throat and sword aimed at his heart.

“Mine,” Jackson warned, eyes narrowed.

“I know. So, give him the ring.”

Jackson blinked and released Deucalion, his sword vanishing. That was embarrassing. He stood up and sighed, removing the ring from his jeans. He tossed it to Derek, knowing that if he touched the demonesque his wings would tear from his back. He had been shirtless enough around Derek. There was a little less than eighteen months before they could do anything, but at least he had offered his token to his potential mate.

“So…” Scott began, staring at the blood staining Jackson’s shirt. “What happened?”

Jackson frowned and looked down at his shirt, before he shrugged at Scott. “Training,” he answered, rolling his shoulders as he saw Derek slip the ring onto his left thumb. All of his wings wanted to peacock for Derek, just to show what he would have. He winced.

Deucalion studied him for a moment and then grabbed Scott. “We better back up.”

“Hey, guys,” Stiles said as he came out the front door, standing on the porch.

“Don’t fight it, kid,” Deucalion said as Jackson rolled his shoulders.

Jackson hissed and glared at Deucalion. “They aren’t due—”

“Doesn’t matter, kid. Just let them out, impress him.”

Jackson screamed as flesh, muscle and tendon was ripped apart, staining the snow red. He fell to his knees, wings flapping to remove the blood. They stretched to their full length, reflecting the colors of the rainbow in the weak winter sun. Stiles blinked, staring at Jackson, before he went back into the house. Derek crouched in front of Jackson, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Jackson shivered into the touch, wings folding behind him.

Deucalion moved around them, staring at the blood that was flooding around Jackson. “He can touch your wings.”

Jackson groaned quietly and turned his head, gazing at Deucalion blearily. “No one can touch my wings,” he said.

“Except your mate,” Deucalion said. He ran his eyes over the wings. “At least they don’t need an oiling.”

“Probably because they were oiled only a few days ago,” Jackson muttered.

Stiles came back out of the house and Jackson watched him hand Derek three vials. Before Derek could tell him to, Jackson opened his mouth and drank the clear liquids, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. As the potions moved through him, he sighed softly and felt Derek move closer. He closed his eyes, frowning when he heard his shirt ripping. There was the crunching of snow behind him and he opened his eyes, turning slightly. Stiles was back there, the yellow potion in his hand.

Jackson’s wings curled around to the front, hugging Derek. His hands fisted on his thighs as he felt the potion touch the wounds. Once it was done, Jackson pulled his wings back and stumbled to his feet. “Thanks,” he said to Stiles and Derek, rolling his shoulders.

“You may as well stay here and heal, kid,” Deucalion said and Jackson glared over his shoulder. “I’m sure they know how to protect their house.”

Scott’s eyes were on Jackson’s wings. “I thought you were Disgraced, man,” he said softly and Jackson sighed.

“Some Disgraced can retract their wings,” Deucalion said before Jackson could. “If they retract their wings, they need to release them. More often than not, they’ll release around potential mates, so they can be admired and show that their mate can touch them without losing a few fingers.”

Peter and Talia came out of the house, their eyes going to the blood on the snow. Jackson kept his head down as Derek stepped away from him. “Come inside, Jackson. Being out in this weather can’t be good for you,” Talia said and Jackson could hear the smile in her voice.

Jackson nodded and hugged himself as he made his way up to the porch, keeping his wings up. The house was wonderfully warm against the chilly outside. Laura appeared in front of him and gently took his hand, pulling him down the hallway and into a bathroom. Jackson sighed softly when he saw that there were jeans and a towel waiting for him, shaking his head. It was getting annoying.

Removing his destroyed shirt, Jackson froze when he heard a voice in the hallway. He pulled open the bathroom door and stared down at Danny, who looked around Laura and grinned at him. Laura stepped to the side and Danny approached quickly, opening his arms to let Jackson hug him. Jackson shook his head, his wings raising higher behind him. Danny gazed at them, before he sighed and hugged Jackson, wrapping his arms around Jackson’s hips.

“What are you doing here?” they asked the other.

Jackson wrapped his arms around Danny’s shoulders, being mindful of his wings. “Deucalion and I were training and then I had Derek kick my ass.”

Danny pulled back slightly, placing his hands on Jackson’s shoulders. “I was here to help Stiles with some research. We’re still trying to find something about archangel hexes.” He sighed softly. “At least that’s what we were doing, before he got distracted by Derek’s creepy, hot uncle.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and he could feel a smile falling onto his lips, looking around Danny towards the end of the hallway. “No way,” he breathed. “And I thought I had it hard with Derek.”

“I’m sure it was hard,” Danny muttered and Jackson punched his shoulder. He laughed and rubbed the joint, before he stepped back entirely. “You look terrible.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I was gonna shower before I heard your voice,” he said, leaning on Danny as he reached down to remove his boots. “Then I got curious about why you’re here.”

Danny nodded, taking hold of Jackson’s arm to help keep him steady. “So your wings came out again, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jackson breathed as he straightened. “It’s kind of annoying that every time I get close to Derek, they feel the need to rip out.”

“You know the best way to stop that is just to claim him as a mate,” Danny said with a shrug, following Jackson into the bathroom. Years of lacrosse together made it less weird.

Jackson removed his ruined clothes and turned on the shower. “I can’t claim him. If anyone finds out, he’s fucked and not in a good way,” he explained as he stepped under the warm water, closing his eyes and moaning quietly. He could feel it banishing the last of the chill from his body.

Danny rested against the counter. “That’s easy. Make sure no one finds out.”

Jackson frowned over at Danny as he soaped up his torso, being careful around his back. “I think people will notice that we’re spending more time together, unable to keep our hands off each other. When my father wakes up, he’ll probably throw Derek into jail before I could explain.”

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Danny said and sighed. “So what do you plan on doing about it?”

“There’s nothing I can do about it. For the next eighteen months, I can’t touch him.” Jackson rinsed his body and glanced at Danny with a smirk. “The day I turn eighteen, we’re gonna destroy something.”

Danny laughed. “Pretty sure you two destroy something every time you’re together as it is,” he said with a grin. “But damn you’re lucky. I’d love to have Derek as my mate.”

Jackson glared at Danny, before he remembered that Danny wouldn’t touch Derek. He closed his eyes, washing his face and turning off the shower. He accepted the towel that Danny handed him. He dried his lower body and pulled on the jeans, grateful to see that they were slightly smaller than the previous pair he was given. Danny opened the bathroom door, standing outside as Jackson tried to dry his upper body as much as possible.

Leaving the bathroom, Jackson walked with Danny to the front door. He shivered, dropping the towel around his neck. “I’m not walking you out, man. I like living.”

Danny rolled his eyes and hugged Jackson awkwardly again. “I’ll be back here tomorrow, trying to find any information. We’ll get them back, man.” He smiled and opened the door.

Jackson nodded and smiled as Danny left. He turned around and frowned, feeling something tingle along the bottom of his feet. He stared down at the floor as he walked up the hallway and turned to the right. He raised his head and found Derek standing in the hallway. Jackson stopped, keeping his distance from the demonesque.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, running his eyes over Jackson.

“Fine,” Jackson answered with a shrug. “Did someone put a protection spell over the house?”

“Yeah, my uncle.” Derek’s eyes moved to the wings. “You don’t have to worry about those destroying the house.”

Jackson nodded. “Deucalion?” he asked.

“In the library.”

Jackson nodded again and turned around, heading for the library. He found Deucalion sitting at a table, surrounded by books. He looked up, smiling as he stared at Jackson’s wings, who pulled them further back. He really didn’t like the way people kept staring at them. He really didn’t like the way they kept coming out, as well. He was starting to spend more time healing at the Hale manor than his own room.

“I’ve sent for Aiden and Ethan,” Deucalion said, turning a page. “They’re bringing some of my books with them.” He glanced up. “Why are you in here? I can do the research, while you spend time with Derek.”

Jackson blinked at the Disgraced. “If I spend time with him, I’ll do something stupid,” he said with a shrug.

“Kid, your parents were hexed by a Fallen. Go do something stupid. Forget for a moment that your life is a boiling pot of shit.” Deucalion narrowed his eyes. “I’m telling you that as your guardian and mentor. But I’m mostly telling you as a friend. You could stand to relax a little.”

“The last time I relaxed, my parents were hexed and I killed a brother,” Jackson stated simply, crossing his arms.

“Go spend time with Derek.”

Jackson sighed and left the library, heading back to the hallway he last saw Derek. He could stay in the library and argue with Deucalion, but that would mean the hex wasn’t being researched. As he expected, Derek wasn’t in the hallway and he checked the living room, finding Cora in there. She looked up and smiled, eyes on his wings for a moment, before they returned to his face.

“Derek’s in his bedroom,” she said and Jackson’s eyes widened. “Upstairs, go right and it’s the last door on the left.”

Jackson nodded and went upstairs, his steps slow and measured. His wings cupped his arms as his heart thumped wildly in his chest as he drew closer to the last door on the left. He should be in the guest room, resting and letting his body heal so he could leave. Halfway down the hallway, Jackson stopped, eyes fixed on his destination. His mind was right. He should be sleeping, not ‘spending time with Derek.’

Swallowing, Jackson stepped back, wondering when he felt nervous about anything. He was confident in everything he did, including his contracts. Being around Derek made him nervous, especially after his defeat at the hands of the demonesque. Deucalion was right. Derek had been holding back on him, which just annoyed him more than anything.

Pushing down the butterflies in his stomach, Jackson approached the door. What was he meant to do now? He could knock, but what if Derek was doing something? Eyes were on him and Jackson turned to the left, seeing Talia down the hallway. She nodded at him, gesturing at the door he was standing in front of. Jackson lowered his eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the butterflies again. Why was it so easy to swing his sword at Derek, but spending time around him made him nervous as hell?

Raising his hand, Jackson paused again. He could feel Talia growing impatient with him and got the feeling she was going to knock on the door for him. She was getting closer as he continued to stare at the door. He was a damn Fallen! It shouldn’t be that difficult just to knock on someone’s door. It shouldn’t be that difficult to talk with someone, about anything. He didn’t know much about Derek, except that he loved his family.

Swallowing again, Jackson closed his eyes and lowered his hand. Talia sighed beside him and knocked on the door for him. His eyes opened and he stared at her. She smiled and walked down the hallway, disappearing around the corner when the door opened. Maybe he didn’t feel interesting enough for Derek. What could he offer Derek that he couldn’t get from someone else? He was just a kid.

“Everything okay?”

Jackson stepped back and nodded. “Sorry,” he said, throat dry. He glanced up at Derek, who was resting against his door. It was getting awkward. He knew it was as his wings were trying to cover his body. “I…I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You don’t need a belt?”

Jackson’s eyes instantly dropped to the belt around Derek’s hips, hoping that Derek couldn’t hear his heart. He swallowed and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, barely trusting his voice. _Look up_ , he told his eyes that were still on the belt buckle that looked so easy to undo.

“I don’t think you can wear a shirt,” Derek said as he straightened.

Jackson’s eyes moved up the shirt that Derek wore, seeing how it pulled tight around his chest and shoulders. “I can’t,” he confirmed softly. _Abort! Run! Do_ something _, you fool!_ Jackson dropped his head, feeling the heat on his face. “Sorry,” he said as he straightened his shoulders. “I should probably get some rest.”

“Probably,” Derek agreed. “Did you forget where the guest room is?”

Jackson closed his eyes, mentally thanking Derek for giving him a way out. “Yeah,” he said as he opened his eyes and finally returned his eyes to Derek’s. “I think I got a little lost.”

“More than a little, since it’s on the first floor and you’re up here,” Derek said with a smirk.

Jackson glared and shoved Derek’s shoulder. “Fuck you,” he said and huffed. “I was sent up here to spend time with you.”

“In that case,” Derek murmured, grabbing Jackson’s wrist and pulling him into the bedroom. “You can rest in here.”

Jackson looked around the bedroom, seeing a large bed against a wall. The floorboards were clean, a pile of clothes sat on a chair and the desk across from the bed was cluttered. It was a lot cleaner than he expected. He tensed when the towel was removed from his neck and added to the pile of clothes on the chair. He was given a gentle push over to the bed and Jackson froze.

“You can sleep in here. The others will think we’re spending time together and I can finish my work,” Derek said. “The bed’s been protected, as well.”

Jackson glanced at him and nodded. He pulled back the covers and slipped under them, feeling far more drained than he thought possible. Out of habit, he laid on his stomach, head turned from the door, arms under the pillow. The bed was surprisingly comfortable. He had no idea what he expected from Derek’s bed. Maybe he thought Derek would sleep on a pile of hay. The mattress was firm, as were the pillows and he closed his eyes.

“What do you do for your family?” he asked, wings flapping behind him.

“I’m the go-between for the shadier parts of our work,” Derek said and Jackson frowned, raising his head and looking over his shoulder. “We _are_ demonesques. We’re always gonna have some shady shit we’re doing.”

“What do you do for my father?” Jackson sat up when Derek remained silent. “Derek, what do you do for my father?” he repeated, seeing the way the shoulders tensed. Slipping off the bed, Jackson stood beside him. “Do you kill for him?”

“A few times,” Derek said, glancing at Jackson quickly. “You’re meant to be resting.”

Jackson stared at the door to the bedroom, trying to figure out when Derek killed for his father. Why would his father want someone dead? It made little sense to him. “I got curious.”

“Go back to bed, Jackson,” Derek said.

“No. I want to know about your methods.”

Derek stood up and stared down at Jackson blankly. Jackson stayed where he was. He wasn’t lying. He was curious about the methods that Derek used when taking a life. His eyes searched Derek’s and his brow furrowed a moment. Derek wasn’t a Fallen or a Disgraced. Taking a life affected him, which had Jackson lowering his eyes, until he realized he was staring at Derek’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Jackson said as he turned his head away. “I forget that others have remorse.”

“You have some version of it,” Derek said and Jackson rolled his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he snapped and Jackson blinked at him. The glare in Derek’s eyes went straight to his groin.

Jackson tried to get his mind on something else. “I feel nothing for the lives I’ve taken.”

“I didn’t say it was for the lives you’ve taken. If you didn’t feel remorse, you wouldn’t be worried about being underage. You wouldn’t care what happened to me, as long as you could get off.”

Derek’s eyes soften and Jackson felt a shiver try to run through his body. Instead, Jackson smirked. “No, I think that’s guilt. I’d definitely feel guilty about you going to jail because you got me off. And then I’d be in a rage that you couldn’t do it again for another fifteen years.” He shrugged and went back to the bed, feeling Derek’s surprised gaze on him. “Because my father would make sure you didn’t get out on good behavior,” he added as his wings flopped on the bed.

\--

Jackson opened his eyes when someone opened the bedroom door. He heard Derek announce himself and Jackson turned his head, searching the darkness. He heard the sound of clothing being removed. “What are you doing in the guest room?” he asked groggily, deeming Derek not a threat and therefore he didn’t need to wake up fully.

There was silence for a moment and then the bedside lamp was turned on. Derek was wearing cotton pants. “You aren’t in the guest room,” he said, eyes on the wing that was taking up his side of the bed.

Jackson pushed up onto his knees and rubbed his eyes. He blinked around the room and finally landed on Derek again. He fought with Derek, lost to him and his wings released. He forgot about that, as his wings hadn’t destroyed everything. Why was he in Derek’s room?

“Sorry,” he mumbled and slipped off the bed, stretching his arms above his head and wings stretching out behind him. “How did I get here?”

“You walked up here,” Derek answered as Jackson rolled his shoulders. “You don’t have to leave. I just needed you to move your wing.”

“I should probably head home,” Jackson said and went to the door. He turned around when a hand landed between his shoulders. “What?”

“Do you know what day it is?” Derek asked and Jackson frowned. “Do you remember anything that happened before today?” Jackson’s frown deepened. “Come back to bed.”

Jackson shook his head. “My parents probably want to know where I am,” he said, covering his mouth as he yawned. He might not know what day it was or remember anything that happened before the few hours before he passed out.

“Get some more sleep. Come on.”

Jackson looked at the door and then at Derek’s bed. He was too tired to pull his wings back and shook his head. “My wings,” he muttered.

“It’s all right,” Derek said gently and pulled Jackson over to the bed. “Sleep on top of me.”

Jackson stared at Derek’s naked torso. “No,” he said and pulled away from Derek. “You could get in trouble.”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Jackson continued to stare at the naked torso. “I can’t trust my body around you,” he said, desperately wanting to feel that body against his own. He wasn’t awake enough to deal with this.

“Do you remember where the guest room is?”

Jackson shook his head. “I can find it on my own, though,” he said. He reached behind him with a trembling hand, feeling desire flooding his body and turned around. He slipped out of the bedroom and took a moment to gather his composure. Shaking his head, he went downstairs and tried to remember where Cora took him.

Going to the kitchen, Jackson made his way from there. He turned down the hallway and bit his lower lip. He wasn’t about to open every door down the hallway, just in case someone was in a bathroom. Behind him was the front door. He could probably leave and fly back home without anyone knowing.

“This way,” Derek said as he slipped past Jackson.

Not questioning it, Jackson followed Derek down the hallway. The door to the guest room was opened and Jackson stepped by Derek, frowning as his wing stretched and felt up Derek’s naked torso. He pulled his wing back. “Sorry,” he said. “They have a mind of their own sometimes.”

“Maybe they go after what they want,” Derek said with a shrug.

“I always go after what I want,” Jackson said with a glare. His feathers ruffled when Derek smirked at him. “Except when what I want is six years older than me.” He narrowed his eyes when the smirk stayed on Derek’s face. The cocky bastard.

Stepping close to Derek, he hovered a few inches off the floor, putting him at the same height as Derek. The smirk fell from the demonesque as Jackson moved closer, placing his hands on the shoulders of him. He slipped his arms around Derek’s neck, nuzzling his cheek. He placed a soft kiss on the cheek and pulled back, barely keeping a centimeter of space between their lips as he stared into the clear eyes of Derek.

“Where’s that pretty smirk, Derek?” he murmured, fingers massaging the base of the demonesque’s skull. “You don’t think it’s that amusing when it happens?” One of his hands brushed along a collarbone and Derek tensed. A sensitive spot for him, then.

“You should stop, then,” Derek said, placing his hands on Jackson’s waist. Damn his hands were so warm.

Jackson nodded, knowing he should move back. He knew he should stop before they went too far, but his eyes dropped to Derek’s mouth. He wanted to move back. That would mean losing Derek’s hands on his body, though. That meant they wouldn’t be touching. He felt something wind around his thigh, shivering. His wings were already out and that meant he didn’t need to fear that pain.

“Should I?” Jackson asked and raised his eyes, fingers running along the collarbone again. The tail tightened around his thigh. Derek’s hand cupped his cheek and his eyes spotted the ring on the thumb. He frowned at it. “Who’s that from?”

“You,” Derek said and Jackson dropped to his feet. “You don’t remember making it? You did it at the hospital.”

The tail loosened around his thigh, but didn’t disappear. “Why was I at the hospital? What happened?”

“Do you remember meeting Remiel?”

Jackson winced as the memories came rushing back. How in the hell had he forgotten about that? Why was he teasing Derek, when he should be finding out who put a contract on him? “Shit,” he breathed. He took Derek’s hand, staring at the ring, before his eyes dropped to the silver tail that was wrapped around his thigh. Why did that feel so nice? “I… We probably…”

“I know.” Derek shrugged his right shoulder. “I like how you fight. I like how you challenge me. I don’t like that you’re six years younger than me, though.”

“I don’t like that I’m six years younger than you, either,” Jackson said, wings flapping behind him. “Can I touch your tail?”

Derek looked down and his tail released Jackson’s thigh. “You probably shouldn’t. It would be like me touching your wings.”

“Are you two cock-blocking yourselves now?”

Jackson frowned and looked around Derek, seeing Deucalion in the hallway, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Yeah, we kind of have to, old timer.”

“Don’t give me that, kid. Take him to bed and enjoy yourselves.” Deucalion finished his coffee. “Jesus Christ, just give each other a hand job. I can practically _taste_ the sexual tension.”

Jackson blushed and cleared his throat, wings hugging him. Derek crossed his arms and stepped back from Jackson. “Goodnight,” they said, Jackson going into the guest room, kicking the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it! Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Aira_Slytherin12thGen: Oh my gosh! Hello! I've missed you so much on this story! I'm so glad that you were finally able to read it. And yes, Halemore is my OTP for this fandom, as well. Thank you so much for the comment and I hope to see you again!
> 
> orannia: You guessed correctly, my dear. Yeah, it's a small fortune to pay a Fallen and they are reborn. So let all the questions come forth, as I know they will. Thank you for your comment, it had me grinning like an idiot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Guest1701: Yeah, I watched the Battle for Alberta with my two besties. One is a 'Hawks fan, too. But I told her she was going for the Oilers, whether she liked it or not. And I agree, they do look on point and Davo was definitely on fire for that final game. Of course, they lost the day I'm posting this. Moving away from hockey, I'll take up all the characters just talking about that. Derek's horns were finally shown here! Was it worth the wait? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Hello, my dear! Some people do move fast, but I'm not gonna judge them. With how their lives are, I'd probably move in that quickly, too. Oh my gosh, I know! His horns were revealed in this chapter and I hope it was worth the wait. I kinda had to figure out a reason for him to keep them hidden, since horns aren't really like black wings and crown of thorn halos. Trust me, there's a good reason for it. It will be revealed later on. Oh, I'm glad you liked the section with Deucalion and Jackson. I kind of want him to have a great network of support, especially as things are gonna get worse. I hope this chapter was to your liking and I can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: The Krackens have yet to play a game! I can't support a team if I haven't seen them play. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. I would totally go for the Golden Knight, if they just shortened their name to the Vegas Knights. Once they drop the 'golden' from their name, I'll be all over them. Now, as for the comment, I'm glad you got the feels from it. I didn't really intend for that to happen, but I'll take it when it does. As for the question you had about Derek's horns, the explanation is coming in a later chapter. Thank you for the comment! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and hope to hear from you again!
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!
> 
> LoovvNoire: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much for that comment. I'm super glad to know that you're enjoying the story. I also hope you enjoyed this chapter and hope to hear from you again! (The getting together part is coming...eventually. I swear!)
> 
> Guy Fawkes: Thank you for the comment! I mean, you don't have to comment if you don't want to. I can't really force it from ya. But thank you for continuing to do so. I hope this chapter was to your liking and hope to hear from you again!
> 
> To those that left kudos - thanks a bunch! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


	13. A Warning Break

**~Crown of Thorns~**

**By:** Aerys Krystie.

* * *

Someone bursting into the bedroom woke Jackson and had his sword in his hand, which was shoved through someone’s chest. His eyes widened when Deucalion coughed up blood. Removing his sword, Jackson shoved a blue-sheened feather into his neck and snapped his fingers. The wound healed over, taking longer than Jackson was accustomed. Usually, it was instant healing. Maybe it had something to do with his sword. Once the wound was healed, Jackson checked it and stood back.

Rubbing his eyes, Jackson moved around Deucalion who followed him down the hallway. If Jackson remembered correctly, there was a bathroom down that way. He found it, slamming and locking the door behind him, before Deucalion could follow him in there. Once he was somewhat awake, he opened the door and gazed at Deucalion. There had to be a reason for him to crash into the bedroom, despite knowing that Jackson would attack when rudely awoken like that.

“All right, what’s so important that you got stabbed for it?”

Deucalion smiled and pulled Jackson down the hallway, around a corner and down another hallway. They ended up in the kitchen and Jackson raised an eyebrow at the cauldron that was bubbling away. Talia smiled at him and Jackson blinked, images flashing before his eyes. Talia and Deucalion attempting to clone him. Talia and Deucalion working on a strong lust potion, so he and Derek finally mated. He wasn’t opposed to that last one, as long as no one turned them into the cops afterwards.

“I found a potion that should undo an archangel’s hex,” Deucalion said and Jackson tilted his head. He may have forgotten that his parents were currently hexed. In his defense, he was staying around Derek. “We just need one of your blue feathers.”

“You sure about this, old timer?” Jackson asked as his left hand twitched and a blue-sheened feather appeared between his fingers. Talia’s eyes widened slightly with wonder. Clearly, she wasn’t aware of how he called them forward. “This isn’t gonna backfire and kill me, is it?”

“Oh, no,” Talia said with a smile. “There’s only an eighteen percent chance of that happening.”

“What?” Jackson held his feather away from Deucalion. “Get that percentage down to fifteen and I’ll give you the feather.”

“Is that three percent really important, as your parents’ lives hang in the balance?” Deucalion asked, still reaching for the feather with forceps.

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “The grace is taking over for this, old timer,” he said and Deucalion stopped trying to get the feather. “Apparently, it wants to live. And I can’t say I blame it.”

Talia hummed quietly and flipped through a book. “Okay, if we don’t use your feather, there’s a zero percent chance that you’ll die,” she said and looked up. “There’s also a forty-eight percent chance your parents will come out of this alive.”

“How alive are we talking here?” Jackson asked. Talia raised an eyebrow. “There are various stages of alive.”

“I didn’t know that,” Talia said, leaning on the table. “Just give us the feather, Jackson. You probably won’t die from us administering the potion.”

“Yeah, there was a word in there that makes me nervous – probably.” Jackson frowned as his wings flapped and spun around as Derek plucked the feather from his fingers. “Hey, that’s mine.”

Derek looked at the feather, before he ran it down Jackson’s nose, which made him sneeze as it tickled the tip. He handed it to Deucalion. “You’re not gonna die because of a potion, Jackson,” he said as he went into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Jackson narrowed his eyes as Derek went to take a sip of the coffee, his grace tingling. Derek cried out and dropped the mug, staring at it as though it could kill him. Jackson smirked. “Drinking spiders won’t kill you, Derek,” he said, almost giggling when Derek glared at him.

“Real mature,” Derek spat and grabbed another mug of coffee. He paused, checking it first, before he sipped it.

“You created an illusion without using a spell?” Talia asked as Deucalion added the feather to the cauldron. The white smoke coming up from it turned red and then blue. “Fallens really are amazing.”

Jackson shrugged and turned his attention to the cauldron. What he could and couldn’t do didn’t matter to him for the moment. He wanted to know if that potion was going to work on his parents and then he could work on finding out who put a contract on him. If he was lucky, it would take a couple of years to track them down and then he could celebrate with Derek.

Stiles came running into the kitchen from upstairs. “Did it work?” he asked, wings flapping excitedly behind him, while his halo lit up the room.

“We only just got the feather from him,” Talia said with a chuckle.

Peter came down the stairs and kissed the back of Stiles’ head. Jackson raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. “Calm down,” he said and the brightness of Stiles’ halo dimmed a little. “You’ll find out soon. Jackson.”

Jackson smiled. “Peter.” He followed the demonesque into the kitchen and stood unnecessarily close to him as he poured his coffee. “You know, I’ve never murdered someone that didn’t have a contract on them,” he said casually and Peter tensed. “But if you hurt him, I’d _love_ to find out how that feels,” he added with a smirk and patted the man on the shoulder.

Peter swallowed, hand shaking as he place the mug down. Jackson turned from him, making sure his wings didn’t touch him. Stiles was still staring at the cauldron, but Derek’s eyes were trained on Jackson. His eyes trailed over Jackson and a sly smile tugged at his lips, before he turned to the table. Jackson cocked an eyebrow and realized he was still shirtless, as he hadn’t recalled his wings. He needed to head home soon.

“It should be ready in an hour,” Deucalion said and looked at Jackson. “You ready to head home, kid?”

“Fuck yes,” Jackson breathed and retracted his wings, his ethereal ones shimmering in. “I’ll return your jeans, Derek. I can’t promise their condition will be pristine.” He smiled and walked down the hallway, his wings stretching behind him.

On the porch, Jackson spun around and pulled the door closed. He pressed against Derek, placing a hand on his chest and feeling his heartrate increasing. He floated up the few inches he was shorter by and pressed his lips to Derek’s. He shivered when one of Derek’s hands found the back of his neck, holding him in place and grounding him, preventing him from floating away as his body tingled, different from his grace. This felt like the merging of two great energies.

Pulling back, Jackson inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, knowing they were glowing silver, as Derek’s glowed black. “God, I wish I was older,” he whispered and kissed Derek again.

Derek’s tail wound around his thigh and Jackson moaned quietly, opening his mouth to Derek’s searching tongue. He shivered again, dropping to his feet and his hands ran over Derek’s torso. He felt the sculpted abdominal muscles that were begging for him to lick them. His wings wrapped around Derek, pulling him closer. The tail tip seemed to search Jackson’s leg, moving between them to his straining erection. He pulled back enough to stare into Derek’s eyes, not fighting when he was picked up. He wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and let the demonesque pin him to the wall beside the door.

Their lips met again and their tongues searched. Jackson ran his fingers along Derek’s collarbone, smirking mentally when he growled and pressed closer. His spare hand disappeared into the black hair, brushing along the base of a horn. Jackson pulled back and stared at the silver horns, breathing heavily. His fingers reached to touch one, but he paused and looked at Derek, who nodded and then buried his face into Jackson’s throat.

Jackson ran his hand over the curving horn, feeling the bumps. Derek groaned quietly as his fingers moved towards the top. Derek’s tail continued to stimulate his erection and Jackson moaned softly, eyes fluttering as he got closer to his end. He came when Derek bit his throat as he reached the tip of the horn, hand falling to his head and forcing his face in further, his wings tightening their hold around the demonesque.

“Oh fuck, Zuriel,” he murmured, eyes closing. He felt his grace retreating and he moaned again. “Derek. Fuck, I don’t think I can fly straight after that.”

Derek removed his teeth from Jackson’s throat and chuckled. He turned his head, gazing at Jackson’s spaced out expression. “You could stay. Spend the hour here,” he suggested softly.

Jackson ran his hands through Derek’s hair, making sure to miss the horns that were still on display. “You have no idea how much I want to spend longer here,” he said, legs tightening their hold around the waist. “But…” He tilted his head towards the door, which opened.

“Okay,” Deucalion said and glanced at the cocooned demonesque and the pinned Fallen. “…did I just walk out on something?”

“Yeah,” Jackson breathed, gazing at Derek. “Thankfully, you didn’t walk out a minute earlier.” He smirked as Derek grinned. His wings tightened and Jackson sighed softly, trailing his fingertips down Derek’s cheek. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave.”

“I can head back and get your clothes for you, kid,” Deucalion said as his wings stretched. “But I suggest you two take it to a bedroom, just in case others arrive or leave.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed and pulled Jackson from the wall.

“Thanks, old timer,” Jackson muttered, burying his face into Derek’s throat. “We should go to the guest room.”

“Definitely,” Derek said as he opened the front door. The walk down to the guest room was done quickly. Jackson kicked the door behind Derek and dropped his legs. “Is this a good—?”

“Shut up,” Jackson said and covered Derek’s mouth with his own. He pulled back, placing his feet on the floor. “We’re gonna break the law.”

Jackson pushed Derek onto the bed, undoing his jeans. Derek opened his mouth and Jackson straddle his thighs, kissing his abdomen. Derek closed his mouth as Jackson stood up and removed Derek’s jeans. His eyes widened as he could see the erection through the boxer briefs. He licked his lower lip, running his eyes over the strong thighs, letting his hands feel those.

“Fuck, you’re powerful,” Jackson murmured, kissing Derek’s left thigh. His hand rested on Derek’s cock, squeezing it gently. Derek groaned quietly. He ran his tongue over Derek’s thigh, moaning softly at the taste.

Jackson curled his fingers under the top of the underwear and Derek raised his hips. Jackson removed the underwear and his tongue went to the corner of his mouth. It was much bigger than he was expecting, to the point he wasn’t sure if he could fit it in his mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside and Derek inhaled sharply. Jackson glanced up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said quietly and crawled up Derek’s body, kissing him gently. “Have you ever had anything like this done to you before?”

“I…” Derek cleared his throat. “Not re… No.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and he wrapped his hand around Derek’s cock. “You’re a virgin, huh?” he whispered, dropping his head to Derek’s throat. “I’m gonna enjoy breaking you in.”

“What?” Derek asked as he propped up on his elbows.

Jackson smirked and moved down his body, taking the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth. The demonesque moaned and fell back on the bed. Jackson moved his head further down, relaxing his throat. He moaned at the noise that came from Derek. He worked his throat around the head of Derek’s cock, looking up at him. He wished he could see his face for his first blowjob.

“Oh… Fuck, Raphael.” Jackson growled and Derek sat up, eyes glowing black as his stigma took over. He would prefer to hear his name from Derek’s lips, though, especially as he was choking on his monster cock.

Derek’s tail materialized and Jackson let it wrap around his hand, thumb stroking the tip. Derek gasped quietly and Jackson worked his head up and down his cock, fingers playing with the smooth skin of the tail. He looked up at Derek, wings coming around to brush along his legs, which had Jackson shuddering with delight. He went down on Derek’s cock again, moaning as he swallowed the drops of precome.

Pulling back, Jackson used his left hand to stroke the cock and leaned up, kissing Derek gently. His ears twitched as he caught the sounds of Aiden and Ethan showing up at the house. Deucalion was explaining that Jackson and Derek were a little busy at the moment, which had Jackson chuckling and moving back down to Derek’s dick. He swallowed it again, loving the way Derek moaned, hand gripping Jackson’s hair.

“Shit… Jackson, I’m…”

Jackson hummed around the cock and Derek’s hand tightened. Swallowing everything that was produced, Jackson waited until Derek had calmed down a little, before he pulled back slowly. Derek fell back on the bed and Jackson kissed up his torso, laying atop him and listening to his racing heart. Every now and again, a shudder ran through Derek’s body and Jackson smiled, wings flapping lazily behind him as Derek’s tail curled around his thigh. He was happy to fall asleep there.

A knock on the door made Jackson groan and sit up. He grabbed Derek’s underwear and threw it at him, while he went to the door. Once Derek had his pride covered, Jackson opened the door and found Deucalion there. His mentor smiled, eyes going over Jackson’s head. He raised an eyebrow as Derek was still laying on the bed, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Jackson kind of pitied and envied him. The first time was usually the best and the most intense.

“Aiden and Ethan want to see you again. They’d also like to study the blood and tissue that your friends took, just in case the potion doesn’t work,” Deucalion said and Jackson nodded, leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

In the kitchen, Aiden and Ethan were making polite small talk with Talia and Cora. Their faces lit up when Jackson walked in and smirked at them. “Here for another ass-kicking, boys?” he asked and laughed as they hugged him. He could lie and say that he didn’t miss them, but he kind of did.

Ethan smirked and ruffled Jackson’s already tussled hair. “We upped our training, Whittemore. We could probably give you a workout, now.”

“Wanna bet on that, _przepiękny_?” Jackson asked, smirk changing into an almost evil grin. Ethan swallowed and Jackson laughed, placing two fingers to Ethan’s forehead and pushing it back. “I didn’t think so.”

Ethan’s eyes moved to something behind Jackson, who turned and smiled at Derek. The demonesque was pulling on a shirt, pausing when he felt three sets of eyes staring at him. “Hey, I’m Derek,” he said and went to the fridge, getting a glass of orange juice and handing it to Jackson, before he checked on the cauldron.

“Damn, Jackson,” Ethan murmured as he turned around. “I can see why you wanted to return to this town.”

Jackson slapped the back of Ethan’s head. “Mine,” he said playfully, though his eyes were hard and full of warning. He would kill Ethan if he did anything more than look.

“I gathered that when I saw the ring on his hand,” Ethan said and held his hands up as Jackson drank his juice. “Now, who are these friends of yours that have the samples?”

Jackson patted down the jeans and frowned. “Derek, I’m raiding your wardrobe,” he said as he ran upstairs and to Derek’s bedroom. He found jeans that would fit him and wondered why Derek would have clothing that small, but he wasn’t going to question it too much. He showered quickly, pulling on the jeans and the shirt he pilfered, as well. He went back to the kitchen. “Anyone seen my phone?”

“Not since yesterday,” Talia answered and looked up. “Was it in your ruined jeans?”

“Which pair?” Aiden muttered with a smirk, laughing when Jackson rolled his eyes.

Jogging to the downstairs bathroom, Jackson checked his blood soaked jeans and found his phone. He unlocked it and sent a text to Stiles, Lydia and Danny, asking them to meet him at the Hale manor. He doubted Lydia would leave the samples alone, probably running another dozen tests on them. Jackson stepped into the hallway, stopping at the branch off to the kitchen, staring at his phone.

Danny and Stiles said they would be around soon. Jackson raised his head and frowned at the front door. Something wasn’t right. There was a knot in his stomach and his shoulders were tensing. Something was coming towards the house and it wasn’t friendly. The closer it got, the more Jackson felt he should recognize what it was and his eyes widened as his wings ripped from his back, coating the hallway in his blood. He did recognize it.

There was another Fallen coming towards the Hale manor. Deucalion stood beside him, staring at the front door, as well. “He’s pissed,” Deucalion muttered and Jackson nodded.

“Is that what I think it is?” Talia asked as Jackson’s wings flapped, removing the last of the blood from them.

“Yeah,” Jackson answered and went to the door. “Stay inside.”

Jackson went outside, swords materializing by his hips as he stepped onto the snow. He heard the others stepping out onto the porch and sighed, glaring over his shoulder at them. The entire Hale family, Aiden, Ethan and Deucalion looked back at him and shrugged their shoulders. They were curious and Jackson narrowed his eyes, moving his wings, getting himself used to the pain.

The other dropped down in front of Jackson, an explosion of snow rising around them. Jackson beat his wings, keeping it from landing on him. The other stood up, halo on display and Jackson tilted his head. There was no flames. As far as he knew, all the registered Fallens were archangels. The one in front of him was young, barely eighteen if he had to guess, which explained a lot. This was probably this one’s first contract, which was upsetting. Jackson really didn’t want to kill another Fallen, especially one so young that they weren’t registered yet.

Staring into the glowing white eyes of the other, Jackson frowned. “Zophael,” he said and laughed. “You should have known what you were getting into.”

“Raphael,” the other said, broad sword materializing by their thigh. “Turns out that someone really wants you dead. I should have known that Remiel would fail.” The eyes moved to the spectators. “Oh, your host cares for those… How cute.”

“Oh, Raphael isn’t out, yet,” Jackson said and smirked. “What do you think an angel can do against an _arch_ angel? You didn’t even fight in the war. How did you manage to let your grace wander?”

“You think there isn’t hundreds of loopholes?” Zophael gripped his sword and pointed it at Jackson. “After all, it was the pride of one that made the others fall. Maybe your pride will be your downfall, as well.”

“Fallens don’t take contracts on each other,” Jackson said, wings flapping behind him. “There’s a reason for that.”

“I’m sure Michael told us that we’re all brothers and that we shouldn’t kill each other.”

Jackson sighed quietly, softening his eyes. “Don’t make me kill you as well, Zophael. You could have a decent life as a Fallen. Don’t make me take it from your host.”

“You’ve gotten soft, Raphael. Begging not to fight? What would Michael say if he saw you like this?”

“Why don’t we ask him?” Zophael frowned and Jackson raised an eyebrow. He could feel a second Fallen coming towards them. “You can’t feel him? He’ll be here very soon.”

“Guess I’ll have to kill you before he gets here, then.”

Jackson turned to the side, raising a wing. Zophael’s sword sparked off it. Sighing, Jackson dodged and weaved the attacks, using his wings to block when they were needed. Zophael was experienced with his weapon of choice, but his host body wasn’t. Jackson caught the arm that was swinging the sword. With a deep breath, he broke the arm, which had Zophael growling. It did the job and Jackson stepped back as the third Fallen arrived.

Turning around, Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw the black wings that reflected gold. The halo was surrounded by gold flames and the man landed lightly on his feet in front of the porch. The eyes glowed and Jackson’s grace raced through his body, demanding to be free so it could greet its brother. Jackson kept it at bay, as he didn’t want the death of a Fallen on his conscience again.

“Michael,” Jackson breathed and the Fallen smiled warmly at him.

“I thought I would be greeting my brother,” Michael said as he stood in front of Jackson. “You’re keeping him at bay. Why, _parvulus_?”

Jackson lowered his eyes. “I already killed one brother,” he said softly and glanced up, seeing Michael nod at him. “I didn’t want to take another from us.”

“I understand, _parvulus_ ,” Michael said, cupping Jackson’s cheek. “But I need to ask you this – is their life more important than yours? Is their life more important than those you care about?”

Jackson looked over his shoulder, lowering his wing to better see Zophael, who was staring at Michael. “His life isn’t. He accepted a contract on me.”

“Exactly,” Michael agreed, turning Jackson’s head, forcing him to look into the glowing gold eyes. “You’ve made enemies with someone powerful enough to have Fallens accept a contract on you, _parvulus_.” The eyes narrowed slightly as they searched Jackson’s. “I wonder what you did. I wonder who you angered.” The voice lowered. “Another will come for you.”

Jackson’s eyes widened as Michael kissed his cheeks and stepped around him, their wings sparking off the other. He turned around, seeing a gold sword materializing in Michael’s hand. He was going to guess that the archangel had a thing for gold. Zophael fell to his knees, getting ready to beg and plead for mercy, despite knowing that he wouldn’t receive it. Michael’s aura was cold.

“Fallens do not accept contracts on their brothers,” Michael said and Jackson tensed at the authority in his voice. “You have committed the sins of greed and pride, Zophael. Fallens are duty-bound to keep sinners down, to take their lives so they can serve their eternal damnation.” The sword was pointed at Zophael’s throat. “To take the contract of a brother is punishable by death. Do you understand, Zophael?”

“Yes, brother,” Zophael whispered and dropped his head.

Michael’s shoulders straightened. “ _Parce mihi, frater_ ,” he said.

Jackson cried out, clutching his chest as he felt the blade pierce his heart. He fell to his knees, ignoring the tears that dropped from his eyes. He watched as the white grace of Zophael came out of the mouth, hearing the screams and pleas not to return to the cosmos. It was just the same as Remiel and Jackson closed his eyes, not wanting to see it, wishing he couldn’t feel it. In a few seconds, the screams disappeared and Jackson opened his eyes, seeing Zophael’s body collapse to the snow covered ground.

Michael turned to him and got on a knee, wiping the tears from his eyes. “ _Neque clamabunt perditus frater minimus_ ,” he murmured and Jackson sniffed, nodding. “I did not think you would feel it, Jackson. I apologize. Your bond with your grace is stronger than I expected.” He raised his head and looked at the others that were watching them, eyes wide. “Let your mate soothe you.” He dropped his eyes to Jackson and smiled. “You have good taste, Jackson.”

Unable to stop it, Jackson chuckled and nodded. “Still have to wait eighteen months, though,” he said, rubbing his chest, even though there was nothing there.

“Yes,” Michael said as he stood up, helping Jackson. “Human law is bizarre. If they focused on your grace and his stigma, they would see that you’re older than your bodies.”

“Probably a good thing, for the moment,” Jackson said quietly, glancing at Derek, who was watching him. “ _Non opus momenti quam postea conscientia mea_.” He lowered his eyes and sighed, returning his eyes to Michael.

The archangel smiled gently at him, a breeze ruffling their feathers. “ _Quod sic. Intelligo._ ” He held Jackson’s chin. “His claim looks good on you, strangely enough. Perhaps it is because Raphael’s color is silver.” Jackson smiled. Michael’s eyes went to Deucalion and then Aiden and Ethan. “You have interesting friends,” he said.

Jackson grinned at the Hale family, Deucalion, Aiden and Ethan. “You haven’t even met my best friend, yet. I’m sure he’ll think your halo is fabulous,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “You have to leave, don’t you?”

“I only stopped by because I had a contract near here.” Michael pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Jackson. “This is my number. If you ever have any questions about anything, feel free to call me or text. I finally know how to do that.”

Jackson frowned, trying to stop the laughter that wanted to bubble out of him. “How in the hell did you survive divine intervention?”

“With difficulty,” Michael answered, stepping back from Jackson. “The angel that was assigned to my contracts was…chatty. He had some kind of issue with Ted from Accounting. There are times I miss Heaven and times I forget how petty it is.”

Jackson frowned and nodded, watching as Michael’s wings stretched out. “Thank you, brother,” he said and Michael paused.

With a smile, he hugged Jackson. “Be careful, _parvulus_ ,” he whispered and ruffled Jackson’s hair. With two beats of his wings, he was up in the air and gone as Stiles drove up and parked.

Turning around, Jackson gazed at the onlookers. “So, who wants to call the Sheriff and report the dead Fallen?”

\--

After giving as much detail as he could to Noah and retracting his wings, Jackson was laying on the sofa in his own living room, clean and in his own clothes. He was dead tired, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Zophael dying, which had him staring at the TV, hoping he could erase those images with whatever he was watching. He never thought he would meet another Fallen that didn’t want to kill him.

The potion hadn’t worked on his parents and Deucalion was pottering around in the kitchen. Jackson was waiting for more bad news to arrive. He had been happy to see that Ethan and Danny had hit things off, spending a great deal of time talking to each other. Danny even peacocked, stretching out his wings and Jackson smiled. At least his wings didn’t need to rip out of his back every time he wanted to peacock.

The doorbell rang and Jackson sighed, dragging himself up. He went to the door and opened it, raising an eyebrow at Danny and Derek standing there. He stepped to the side, letting both of them in. Danny smiled and headed straight upstairs and to the guest bedroom that Ethan was staying in. Aiden had taken the guest cottage out the back and Derek went straight to the kitchen, striking up a conversation with Deucalion.

“Yeah, thanks, guys. I’m fine. Just saw and felt a brother die, heard his eternal pleas to not join the cosmos again. Everything is fucking peachy.” Jackson growled and closed the front door, going back to the living room and flopped on the sofa.

“You hungry, kid?” Deucalion called.

“Nope.”

“You thirsty?”

“Nope.”

“You wanna come in here and spend time with your mate and me?”

Jackson sighed softly, closing his eyes and wincing as he saw the gold blade sinking into Zophael’s chest without hesitation. His eyes opened and he went back to staring at the TV, deciding that if he didn’t answer Deucalion, he would be quiet and let him rot his brain for a little while longer. His shoulders still felt tense, like his wings wanted to come out again, but they were happy where they were. It could be the looming threat of another Fallen coming for him that had him wound up.

Near silence fell over the house again, except for the low murmuring from the kitchen and the occasional footstep upstairs. Jackson realized that it felt nice to have people around that he didn’t feel the need to entertain. He was happy to laze around, take a few hours to get his mental health back where it should be and then he could worry about his parents and the Fallen that was coming for him. Michael hadn’t said if it was another archangel, just that it was another of them.

Matt creeped into his mind and Jackson gritted his teeth. He still needed to find evidence on him being responsible for the sudden coma Peter fell into. If he let Matt goad him enough, he could probably kill him on principle, in front of a crowd and not get into trouble for it. The strange thing was that Jackson didn’t remember ever seen Matt in sword class on Wednesdays. That wouldn’t be strange, if he was seeing Derek as his mentor, but he was booked in on Thursdays for Derek. It was possible that he a different mentor for Wednesdays.

“Hey, kid,” Deucalion said as he pulled Jackson up by his shoulders and sat down. Jackson rested his head on Deucalion’s knees, still staring at the TV. “What’s going on inside your head?”

“Nothing,” Jackson said listlessly. His eyes half-closed when Deucalion started stroking his hair.

“I know your parents would never allow Derek to spend the night, especially in your bedroom, but…” Deucalion trailed off and let Jackson fill in the blank.

“But what?”

“But I’ll let him stay, if you think it’ll help you sleep without seeing a brother die,” Deucalion murmured.

Jackson shrugged. He highly doubted there would be anything, except a memory spell that would make him unsee a brother dying. He never realized that he didn’t want to know what that was like until he took Remiel’s life. He might not have taken Zophael’s life, but he felt it like he had. Even now, his heart gave a painful thump, as though the blade was still lodged in it. Michael had told him not to cry for a lost brother, but…that was almost impossible. Zophael was lost. Was killing him the best course of action?

Michael believed it was, as Zophael had raised a hand against a brother. Jackson knew he shouldn’t care or feel anything for it, but he did. He didn’t want to lose brothers he didn’t know he had. Maybe it was because he was an only child and now he knew he had brothers. Others that understood what it meant to be Fallen and who knew the struggle of having that halo. Michael, Remiel and Zophael had no issue showing their halos. Of course, Jackson didn’t know if they had people they cared about.

If they had no one significant in their lives, Jackson could understand how they would show their halos so easily. He did have people he cared about. Two of them were currently still in hospital, still in a death-like state. Nothing they did had worked. Stiles and Lydia still couldn’t find anything and Jackson was beginning to lose hope that he would ever get his parents back.

Standing from the sofa, Jackson went into the kitchen. Derek was leaning against a counter, reading one of the many books that Aiden and Ethan brought with them. He looked up and smiled at Jackson, who lowered his eyes. He didn’t know that Derek would be busy. Once again, he was feeling like a nervous teenager. He sighed softly and went to the fridge, getting the orange juice from it. He poured himself a glass, returned the juice and went back to the living room.

Sitting on the sofa, Jackson sipped his juice and stared at the TV without seeing it. Deucalion stood and passed by him, ruffling his hair. Jackson wondered why it was so difficult to ask for a hug from someone. Deucalion was strangely more affectionate than his parents were. Danny was busy. Jackson didn’t know Aiden and Ethan well enough to ask for a hug from them. Derek was busy. Stiles wasn’t there. Allison’s wings manifested not that long ago and she was probably getting used to them. Noah was working.

Shaking his head, Jackson realized he was being childish. He finished his juice and took his glass to the kitchen, rinsing it out. He grabbed a book and sat at the breakfast counter, going through the pages. If he couldn’t get a hug, he would try to find a way to bring his parents back. When they got home, he wouldn’t feel so depressed. That was his reasoning and he would stick by it, until he got a contract.

After going through most of the books, Derek broke for a food break. Jackson continued to read, though he was almost certain he had no idea what he was reading. He could almost swear that it was English, but it could be Russian for all the sense it was making to him. He sighed and sat back, rubbing his eyes. He checked his phone and frowned when he saw that it was past two in the morning.

“Shit. I didn’t realize it was that late. I’m gonna hit the sack. I got school in the morning.” Jackson closed the book and slipped off the stool. “If you’re staying the night, the sofa is pretty comfortable. There’s a closet in the hallway that has blankets and pillows. I would offer up one of the two guest rooms, but they’ve been claimed. If you do leave, just take the key from the back of the door. I can unlock it in the morning with mine.”

Derek nodded with a frown as Jackson left the kitchen. He turned off the TV and most of the lights in the house, before he went upstairs and into his bedroom. He kicked the door closed and stripped down to his underwear. He pulled back the covers and rolled onto his stomach, sliding his arms under the pillows and staring at the windows that overlooked the backyard.

He was almost asleep when his phone vibrated and he sighed, reaching for it on the bedside chest. He frowned and sat up, staring at the bedside chest where his phone should be. With a sigh, Jackson grabbed his jeans and pulled it from the back pocket. Derek had sent him a text message. _Goodnight._ Jackson placed his phone on the bedside chest and laid down again, hoping that sleep would claim him soon.

Turning his head to face his bedroom door, Jackson frowned as he realized he was hyperaware of Derek’s movements in the kitchen. He couldn’t even tell when Deucalion went to bed or if Danny ever left the house. It was strange to have so many people in the house, which had Jackson moving around uneasily. He wasn’t used to the house feeling almost like a home.

Closing his eyes, Jackson winced as he saw the blade go through Zophael’s chest again and sighed. He went into his bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, glaring at his reflection. He just needed to get over it. He needed to get over his parents being in the hospital, as well. There was a lot he needed to get over, but his mind was clinging to them like that would make a difference.

A door opened in the hallway and Jackson frowned, drying his face. He opened his bedroom door and saw that Ethan was heading downstairs. Jackson sighed and realized that for the life of him, despite being dead tired, he wasn’t going to sleep until he grew accustomed to the new people in the house. In the kitchen, he could hear Derek and Ethan making polite conversation with each other.

Going to the guest room, Jackson saw that Danny was asleep under the covers and smiled, closing the door silently. He knew Deucalion had stepped out of his room and was watching him. Turning to his mentor, Jackson raised an eyebrow and waited for him to state the obvious.

“Can’t sleep either, kid?”

“What gave it away, old timer?” Jackson grinned and rested against the door to the guest room. “I’m not used to being around so many people. I usually pass out at Derek’s place, because my wings released. I’m almost tempted to do that now.”

“It isn’t worth it.” Deucalion stood beside Jackson and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Did you talk to Derek about what’s keeping you up?”

Jackson shook his head. “There’s no point. I just need to grow up.”

“You’re only sixteen, kid. Your parents are in a coma, sleeping with your mate could have him arrested and labeled as a sex offender. You’re a Fallen with a contract out on them and you watched a brother take the life of another brother just a few hours ago.” Deucalion tightened his arm and kissed the top of Jackson’s head. “You’re allowed to break a little.”

“As you so kindly pointed out, I have a contract on me,” Jackson whispered and glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t need Danny knowing that. He had asked enough questions when he saw the body of a Fallen at the Hale manor. He didn’t need to worry his best friend about the contract. “I can’t afford to break. If something happens to Derek or god forbid Danny…” Jackson rolled his shoulders, feeling his anger spike and burn through his veins.

“I understand, kid,” Deucalion murmured and gently pushed Jackson towards his bedroom. “But you need to rest. Being tired won’t be good for anyone. I’ll get Derek up here. I think you need him more than me.”

Jackson shook his head. “I think he’s eating and still going through those books. I can get some sleep without taking him away from that. Night, old timer. You should have been asleep as soon as the streetlights came on.”

Deucalion’s eyes widened and he slapped the back of Jackson’s head. “Not nice, kid. Go to sleep.”

Jackson grinned and closed the door, going back to his bed. He thought of his time in Vermont. It took him a few days to grow accustomed to the new bed and the fact that there was only one other person in the house. He had to learn how to sleep hearing the horses and the general silence that surrounded a farmhouse. If he could do that, he could fall asleep knowing that there were more bodies in and around the house. He just knew he was going to be rat shit for school in a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it. Now a word to the sponsors:
> 
> Aira_Slytherin12thGen: I completely agree! Though, I'm not too sure about Jackson's parents giving in, considering I know what's been written. Still, that would be a nice turn of events. I would love to see that scene, though! Thank you so much for the comment and hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well!
> 
> Guest1701: First of all, thank you for the heart! Yee! Yeah, I needed a reason for Derek to keep his horns hidden and I finally found one, so it was about time they were shown. Thank you so much for the comment and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well!
> 
> orannia: Thank you so much for the heart! I'm so glad that you like Deucalion. I know I wrote him completely OOC, but it warms my heart to see people enjoying his character in here. And honestly, I think Jackson needed someone a little more mature to support him with being a Fallen and all. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
> 
> TF2: Thank you so much for the comment! I'm not really worried about people reading it. It's just a story that wanted to be told and I'm telling it. Most people are probably upset that the pairings they want to see aren't the focus. An unfortunate thing. I really wish you could leave more kudos, too! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Nameless in Seattle: Thank you for the heart! In Deucalion's eyes, Matt is a basic bitch. Also, he's a Disgraced. He doesn't care what others think of him and he has no problem telling others how it is. Yeah, I figured it was time to actually bring that consequence into play. I don't wanna, but I'm gonna. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Reddy_no_1: Yeah, let's go with that reason. I'm fairly certain I'd pant after him, too, if I saw his horns. I gotta say, I do love the Sheriff and I wish I had him in the story more often. It just doesn't seem to occur to me. And yes, definitely more practice for Scott. Of course, he is going up against someone that murders people for a living. Jackson going after what he wants is fine, as long as he's okay with the consequences of others finding out. Actually, that becomes part of the plot in the next chapter. I mean...what? Yes, Deucalion's straight talking is one of the best things ever! Thank you so much for that comment and I hope you liked this chapter, too! Can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> Guy Fawkes: Thank you for the heart! I mean, you don't have to leave a comment if you don't want to. But glad to know you liked the chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one, too! Hope to hear from you again, as well.
> 
> Blinc43: Thank you for the hearts! The age thing doesn't apply to the Fallen, but to the partner of the Fallen. And this chapter kinda explained a little more of it. Hope you enjoyed this one and can't wait to hear from you again!
> 
> InAwe: Hello and welcome! That wasn't an easy feat, reading a novel length story in one go. Glad you enjoyed it that much and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! Hope to hear from you again, as well!
> 
> To those that left kudos - thanks a bunch! Y'all rock!
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed it. If you did, leave a kudos and/or drop a comment.
> 
> Just a fair warning, NHL is back and I've been distracted quite a bit by that. Update speed might vary.
> 
> Until the next one!
> 
> Peace.  
> Auska.


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